


As the Snow Falls

by svana_vrika



Category: Free!
Genre: Adult Content, Bathing/Washing, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Canon Universe, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Coming Out, Cuddling & Snuggling, Family, Family Feels, First Kiss, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Introspection, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Murphy's Law, Mutual Pining, Naked Cuddling, Nanase Haruka & Tachibana Makoto & Tokyo, New Year's Eve, New Years, Non-Explicit, Reminiscing, Romance, Slow Build, Tokyo (City), Traditions, Tropes, Winter, makoharu - Freeform, slightly possessive Haru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 26,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21635959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svana_vrika/pseuds/svana_vrika
Summary: Haruka and Makoto share their feelings. A drabble story told from random winter and Christmas prompts.
Relationships: Nanase Haruka/Tachibana Makoto, Shigino Kisumi/Shiina Asahi
Comments: 94
Kudos: 107





	1. Ice Skating

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn’t my intent when I set about finding something to inspire me this morning. But when, after reviewing several random lists of prompts and not being able to settle on just one, my brain decided that stringing the ones I really liked together like this would be a good idea, I wasn’t going to fight it. Especially when my muses have been largely absent for the past month. It’s been a fair bit since I’ve done anything drabblish, and even longer since I’ve posted a story as I go but, sometimes, we just need to challenge ourselves, eh? So here goes. I hope you enjoy these little bits of winter fluff! And Happy Holidays, however you may celebrate them. ♥
> 
> Since I am posting as I write, tags and characters will be added as the story unfolds.
> 
> This story is an original work of fan-fiction. The Free! franchise and its characters, props and settings are the intellectual property of Masahiro Yokotani, Kyoto Animation and Animation Do. I just borrowed them for a bit of entertainment. No copyright infringements are intended, and I will make no profit from their use
> 
> Work is unbetaed.

Haruka won’t deny that he isn’t as graceful playing land-based sports as he is in the water. He’d come to terms with that a long time ago. And he’s accepted that, in terms of speed and agility, Makoto is better in those activities than Haruka will ever be. Probably because he’s more focused on doing what it takes to succeed and win than he is on his size and the bit of clumsiness that has continued to plague him into adulthood, Haruka thinks fondly as he watches his friend. Haruka’s slight smile fades then, it chased away by a silent sigh as Makoto whizzes past him. What Haruka _still_ struggles with is that, while just frozen water, this reversal of fortunes persists when it comes to the ice. It feels as if the water is rejecting him in a way, how—while he can, at least, stay upright on skates now—he still has to hover along the wall if he actually wants to _move_.

“Wow, look at Makoto go!”

Haruka looks up at Kisumi’s exclamation and then his eyes drift forward. He can’t help but smile a bit again as he watches Makoto. There isn’t a sign of fear or anxiety at all, just a pure joy that sparkles in Makoto’s pretty eyes, that lights his handsome face, and Haruka abruptly ducks his head to hide his blush under the pretense of redoing his skate-strings while Kisumi tugs Asahi over to the rink. _Troublesome,_ he thinks, regarding his thoughts, and he tamps them back where they belong: well behind the more important things he has to concern himself about. Like not letting his attraction to and deeper feelings for _his best friend_ ruin what, to Haruka, is the most precious thing he has in his life. And yes, he knows that it might not actually, and yes, he’s suspected a few different times that Makoto might feel the same in turn—it’s not as if Makoto’s exactly adept at hiding his feelings, at least, not from _him_ —but he just isn’t certain enough _to do anything about it_. Not with how it just now feels as if they’ve finally settled into university, and Tokyo, and work and training schedules, and all the changes those things have brought. Not with how Haruka’s heart still clenches hard enough to wake him with tears in his eyes whenever he dreams about that night beneath the fireworks. No. He needs a bit more to go on than his own wishes and wants to risk upsetting their balance again.

It’s a unique situation for Haruka to be in. He’s never really desired much, so he’s never denied himself much, has never had any qualms about indulging himself with his favorite things. However, it’s different with Makoto. Makoto—despite how Haruka will tease that he stands behind both the water and mackerel—is undeniably his most favorite of his few favorite things. But Makoto’s heart is tender, for its boundlessness and strength, and—while Makoto _has_ grown more sure of himself, especially in the time they’ve been away—his self-confidence can be an equally as fragile thing. So Haruka takes more care and consideration when it comes to Makoto. Even to where he’s curtailed his other indulgences over time. He can’t recall when he’d last tried to strip in public for some random collection of water, and he doesn’t eat mackerel three times a day _every_ day. But it’s worth it.

Makoto will _always_ be worth it.

Which is why, when Makoto comes to a stop in front of his bench, breathless, beaming and flushed, to say _skate with me, Haru-chan_ , Haruka just pushes back those feelings _again,_ ignores his uneasiness about going out on the ice, and takes Makoto’s hand with a muttered, “I told you to drop the _chan_ ,” as he gets to his feet. 


	2. Don't Worry; I Won't Let You Fall

Haru has many, many talents, but Makoto knows that ice skating isn’t one of them. So, he’d been a bit surprised when Haru had said _yes_ to Kisumi’s invitation. It isn’t as if Haru’s had time to hone that particular skill since the last time the twins had cajoled Haru into coming with them. That had been just last winter, after all, and Makoto chuckles to himself as he breezes around the natural rink, testing the ice for weak spots. He can count on one hand with fingers left over the number of times he can recall Haru refusing a request from his siblings. It makes him love Haru even more—and Makoto is suddenly glad for the bite in the breeze, as it gives him something to blame his flushed cheeks on. But the twins are in Iwatobi, not Tokyo, and Makoto’s blush burns hotter as his mind comes to the obvious conclusion. Haru definitely wouldn’t have bothered for Kisumi, or even Asahi, though the two had grown closer over the past several months. After all, Haru wasn’t one to spend his rare bits of downtime doing something he really didn’t like just because he was asked. Which made it pretty clear that Haru had come tonight _for him._

For a moment, Makoto lets himself entertain what that might mean: that the little things he’s thought he’s been noticing, just random things like catching Haru in a stare or fingers brushing more often as they walk, might not just be wishful thinking after all. It isn’t the first time he’s thought it, not by far, but it is getting harder and harder not to _do something_ about it. Problem is, Makoto isn’t really sure _what_ he’d do. Haru is so, _so_ skittish when it comes to his heart and emotions. Not that Makoto blames him _at all._ Not with everything Haru has been through. And Makoto knows that that skittishness doesn’t extend to him; that he’s an exception to that rule. But what if he pushes it, takes that next step, and finds out he’s been wrong after all? Could he really risk damaging the one stable relationship Haru’s really ever had like that? Because, to Makoto, Haru’s happiness and needs are more important than the longing that sometimes keeps him awake and causes his chest to ache.

They’re more important than anything.

Which is why Makoto decides, yet again, to push those feelings back, to ignore the _what ifs_ that like to tease through his brain. And then he looks up and sees Haru ahead of him, sitting on a bench, cheeks pinked and lips curved as Haru watches him like he’s the only thing in Haru’s world. Makoto’s heart skips and he feels as if he’s floating past Haru instead of skating. He certainly couldn’t have imagined _that_ , he thinks and, as he rounds the far curve, he glances at Haru again, heart skipping once more when he sees how Haru’s gaze is now locked on his skates. Makoto has made a lifetime of studying Haru’s expressions and postures; he knows from this particular one that Haru’s hiding an emotional reaction to _something_ until he can lock his impassivity back into place. Granted, it could have been something one of their friends had said, some parting jibe before they’d hit the ice versus Haru having caught himself in his look. But that likely would have been about him, too so—either way—it has _something_ to do with Haru’s feelings about him. Right?

Makoto’s lips press as that uncertainty briefly flickers, but this time, it’s that which he puts to the side. There’s only one way to find out for certain, and while the notion of being so bold makes him anxious, it’s nothing compared to how the thought of letting uncertainty and fear build a wall between them again makes him feel. As for the when, Makoto smiles a bit again as he takes another turn around the ice to calm his mind and heart. Now that his decision is made, an opportunity will present itself, he’s sure. But, for now…

Makoto slows as he takes the curve closest to the entry, and then he stops in front of Haru, miniscule particles of ice flying from his blades to join the stars gathering in the sky. “Skate with me, Haru-chan?” he invites, holding out his hand, and then he softly laughs when, as Haru takes it, Haru berates him for the nickname. “Sorry,” he says easily, though they both know he doesn’t mean it, and he takes Haru’s other hand as well, skating backward as he slowly leads Haru out onto the ice. He feels Haru tense as soon as he drops one of his hands and, locking gazes with him, Makoto shifts the one still holding Haru’s so that their fingers are interlaced. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall,” he promises in gentle tenor, heat from his boldness warming his face to match Haru’s pinked cheeks, Makoto’s sure. But Haru doesn’t look away this time; he just holds his gaze in turn and murmurs a quiet, _I know._

And as Makoto starts them into a slow pace around the rink, he feels as if he’s floating again.


	3. Snowing

Haruka’s first few glides are wobbly, even with how carefully Makoto is moving them, but he doesn’t know if it’s from his lack of skill on the ice or how his heart is pounding from those few seconds between them. Anyone who’d heard Makoto’s words would think that Haruka was being foolish, overly optimistic at best. But nobody could read Makoto like Haruka could, either, and Haruka knew from how Makoto had held his eyes that there’d been a deeper promise in those seven words than just a vow to keep him from faceplanting on the ice. He recalls his musings from before Makoto had come for him, the times when he’d thought, he’d hoped, that Makoto might feel something deeper than friendship for him in turn. He didn’t believe this was another of those wishful moments, but then what had it been that—

Haruka’s face goes hot as he recalls those few unguarded seconds that he’d been watching Makoto on the ice. That was it. It had to have been, and for all the elation that had rushed through him when Makoto had joined their hands so intimately, Haruka feels a bit like he wants to die, too, for having been caught so obviously mooning over his best friend _by_ his best friend. Especially when the distraction is enough to send him into a slip, Haruka knocking into Makoto as they make their way around a curve.

“Haru!” Makoto effortlessly shifts without letting go of Haruka’s hand so that he can take his other and skate in front as he brings them to a careful stop. “Are you okay?”

Haruka doesn’t believe his face could get any hotter than it is, but Makoto’s concern over his clumsiness proves him wrong. “Mm,” he assures with a nod and, though he can’t bring himself to meet Makoto’s eyes yet, he gives the larger hands a squeeze. “I want to try again.”

“Haru!” The delight in Makoto’s voice does bring his gaze up, and the sight of Makoto’s happy smile makes showing his embarrassment worth it. “Mm,” Makoto says in turn and he squeezes Haru’s hands back before releasing the one to fall back to Haru’s side again. It doesn’t take Haru but a glide or two to find his rhythm from before, and he smiles a bit, glancing up when he feels Makoto squeeze his hand again. “You’re doing great, Haru-chan!” Makoto says with a look that makes Haru feel as if he’s just won Olympic gold versus having managed a few smooth steps on the ice. “Soon you won’t need me anymore!”

“I’ll always need Makoto,” Haru says before he can stop himself. He blinks when he realizes that he isn’t nearly as mortified by his blurt as he should be, and then, trusting Makoto to keep steering him safely, he turns his head to give him a proper look. “I’ll always need Makoto,” he says again, because he wants Makoto to know that he means it, that it wasn’t just a knee-jerk retort. Though, judging from the emotions glittering in Makoto’s eyes, from his tremulously breathed, _Haru-chan,_ he hadn’t needed the repeat.

Something cold touches Haruka’s nose and cheek then; it’s snowing, he realizes, as he watches a flake or two catch in Makoto’s pretty lashes. Makoto tips his head back with a laugh as if to welcome it, and he’s so handsome and happy and _good_ that it steals Haruka’s breath away. “Look, Haru-chan,” Makoto says as he tips his gaze back down, “Even the sky is celebrating how good you’re doing.”

Haruka’s lips part slightly in disbelief, and then he colors as he shakes his head. “Idiot,” he mutters as he turns his gaze away so that Makoto can’t see his smile, and the laugh Makoto gives warms him even more than his whimsical praise had.


	4. Don't Tell Me You're Not Cold

The park looks like a snow globe, Makoto thinks as he and Haru continue to circle around the rink. The quiet hiss of the falling flakes is the perfect accompaniment to the soft swish of their blades across the ice. It’s like they’re in their own private world, and Makoto can tell that they’re not the only ones who feel it. The chatter and laughter around them have ceased; other partners have joined hands like him and Haru.

Not that he and Haru are a couple, he reminds himself. Not really. Nothing’s really changed, after all; just a meaningful look or two and a couple of exchanges laden with deeper meaning. Yet Makoto can’t help but feel as if everything has. At the very least, he’s more hopeful that it _will_ than he’s ever been.

By the time they’re ready to leave, the entire park is coated in white. It’s beautiful, though Makoto can’t help but wrinkle his nose a bit once they’ve made their way back out to the street. Here, it’s already gone grey and slushy from the vehicles and their exhaust. There’s no magic to it anymore, just a dull, dirty greyness that leaves him chilled, leaves him longing for Iwatobi where, even downtown, the snow manages to stay fairly clean and white.

The stop that Asahi and Kisumi needs is closer than Makoto’s and Haru’s. They pause there, but only briefly. The snow and wind both have started to pick up and it isn’t really conducive to chatting; once Asahi and Haru confirm what time they’re to meet on Monday to fly out for the last training camp of the year, they say their goodbyes and he and Haru continue on to their stop. A sudden gust causes Makoto to wince as they pass in front of an alley-turned-wind shoot and he glances at Haru in concern. Thankfully, Haru _does_ have a coat on, but Makoto knows that there’s likely just a lightweight sweater underneath. Even in the winter Haru hates to be bulked down by a bunch of clothing. Sure enough, Haru’s teeth are set and his gloved hands are tightly clenched; Makoto eyes go soft even as he silently bemoans that Haru refuses to layer. It’s part why Makoto always does.

Makoto can’t see it for the snow, but he knows that their stop is the next block up. As they wait for the crosswalk to change, he opens his coat and shrugs it off; slips it over Haru’s shoulders without a word.

“Makoto, are you crazy? No!”

“I’m fine,” Makoto assures and, while he is admittedly colder than he’d been, he really is—and will be long enough for the bus to come. “Don’t tell me you’re not cold,” he continues sternly when Haru opens his mouth to protest again, because they’ve had this same conversation before, and Makoto sighs when Haru responds with a glare as he always does. “Haruka, please. We’re almost to the stop and the bus will get there just a couple minutes after we do. And I promise I’ll ask for it back for the walk to your apartment if I need it.”

Makoto knows that he’s won when, with a huff, Haru shoves his arms through the sleeves and then folds the coat around himself. Makoto smiles a bit as the light changes. Then again, he realized a long time ago that he usually does when he uses Haru’s full name in a request. 

Two minutes exactly after they’d gotten to the station, the bus comes. Makoto glances down at Haru with a smile, but it just as quickly fades. The bus doesn’t stop. It just slows enough to permit those who are waiting to read the marquee over the windshield declaring it full before it continues on.

“Makoto.”

“It’s alright, Haru,” he assures with a smile that he doesn’t feel quite as much as he had before as he tucks his gloved hands beneath his arms. “There’re enough people here to keep the wind down and it’ll just be fifteen minutes until the next one.”


	5. Thanks for Lending Me Your Coat

Makoto had been wrong about the bus. Not technically, Haruka amends. The next one had come, fifteen minutes on the dot, but it had also been full. At that point, the small crowd had become impatient, bordering angry. It had _not_ been the way Haru had wanted to spend the last bit of a very good night, so he’d tugged Makoto out of the miserable huddle to a clear spot along the curb and had hailed a taxi.

“I’m giving you half, Haru,” Makoto says quietly, and Haruka silently sighs. It’s the fourth time in ten minutes that Makoto has offered some sort of apology for the situation, and that doesn’t count the time he’d actually said he was sorry. It was ridiculous, really. Like Makoto had any control of either the weather or Tokyo’s mass-transit system, Haruka silently scoffs, but then a slight smile follows. That’s how Makoto is, though. Responsible. Caring. Giving, to a fault. And Haruka feels he could continue his silent list all night and still not reach the end of everything _good_ Makoto is.

“Consider it user’s fee for the coat,” Haruka says instead, and that slight smile curves higher when, after a half second of incredulous silence, Makoto blurts a laugh of his name. “It’s fine, Makoto,” he says— _again_ —after. “Besides, it’s not like we’re keeping score. We just do what needs to be done when it comes to each other.”

“Haru. Mm,” Makoto says softly and then, after a moment, a weight lands on Haruka’s hand. It’s Makoto’s, and Haruka’s face gently warms as Makoto threads his larger fingers through Haruka’s again. “Thank you, Haru.”

“Mm.”

They don’t say anything more; Haruka suspects that Makoto is as lost to his thoughts as he is, but that’s alright. For as good as the night’s been, it’s been a bit surreal, too. Their world has suddenly tipped and they’ve slid into something different without anything really happening between them at all. Then again, maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be, he thinks. Just a quiet and natural progression, much like their friendship itself. It feels right, anyhow, though Haruka also knows that they _are_ going to have to talk, that not even _they_ can shift into something this big without at least making sure they’re on the same page. He glances down at their hands and then he shows a slight smile to the window. He’s pretty sure that’s not going to be a problem.

The taxi comes to an eventual, if slightly skidded, stop outside of Haruka’s apartment. At least he and Makoto won’t have to have the coat argument again now, he thinks wryly as he pays. His eyes briefly widen as he steps out of the car. The snow hasn’t slowed at all, and he turns slightly to watch for Makoto—who instantly slips into a smile from the slight grimace he’d worn until he’d realized that Haruka was looking at him. _Idiot,_ Haruka thinks about his attempt to hide, but he just says, “Come up. I can at least give you a dry shirt to put on before you head home.” He _should_ have just given the driver Makoto’s address and told him to go, he berates himself, but there’s nothing to be done about that now. 

Makoto follows without argument and, as soon as they’re in the genkan, Haruka strips out of his boots and outerwear. His heart tugs guiltily for how absolutely frozen Makoto looks, and he tells him to stay put, then hurries over to where he keeps Makoto’s things. They both have spare clothing at each other’s’ apartments, and he snags the sole, long-sleeved tee that’s in there. A quick duck into the bathroom to grab a towel and he’s back out with Makoto, who’s half out of his sweater, and Haruka’s mouth absolutely does not go slightly dry when Makoto shoves a hand through the messy tousle that’s left once he pulls it off.

The distraction is quickly forgotten when Haruka sees that the shirt beneath is damp, too. His lips press. He’s so, _so_ tempted to tell Makoto just to stay where he’ll be warm and dry, but Makoto has a scheduled study lab early and Haruka knows that he’s concerned about that class. Haruka also knows that Makoto would find it hard to turn him down if he did ask, so he doesn’t. He just waits for Makoto to shrug out of the button-up—thankfully the tee-shirt beneath _that_ seems dry—and then hands him the towel.

“Thanks, Haru-chan.” Makoto scrubs the towel over his head and then hands it back in exchange for the long-sleeved shirt. He tugs it on, smooths his hair out the best that he can, then glances at his watch and gives a sigh. “I should have just enough time to make it to the station.”

Haruka nods. “Thanks for lending me your coat,” he says as he hands it to Makoto, “And for tonight. I had fun.”

“Me too!” Makoto says as he does up the buttons, and then he drops his hands to his sides. For a second, Makoto looks like he’ll say something else, but then he closes his mouth and eyes in that breathtaking smile and then puts his hand on the door. “I’ll see you for lunch after your practice tomorrow, Haru,” he says in lieu of goodbye, and then he’s gone, and Haru feels a bit colder for it despite the warmth his apartment offers. 


	6. Snowed In

Makoto pauses at the bottom of the stairs to draw his hood up, and then slips his hands into his pockets with a sigh. He has a love-hate relationship with the commute from his place to Haru’s. It still seems too far, even after all these months, but he also knows that it could have been much further; that they could have ended up in different cities, or countries even. It’s just the snow and cold that has him actually _grouchy_ about it tonight, he thinks. That, and he was even more reluctant to leave Haru than usual. He wanted to stay, to pile under a blanket and throw on a movie; hold Haru’s hand again maybe, and maybe, after that... well.

Ages old thoughts flicker though his mind as he thinks about _after,_ and he takes a breath to settle himself, only to have it catch when, with it, he draws in a subtle hint of Haru’s scent from his coat. Makoto exhales in a rush, his quiet groan a small, white puff between the snowflakes and the night sky. _Study lab,_ he tells himself firmly, and it’s only the fear of not pulling a decent grade in that class that keeps him from going back to see if he might finally get the chance to find out what Haru’s kiss would taste like.

The thought is enough to keep him warm for the next several steps, but as he gets further into the park by Haru’s apartment, he starts to shiver. It isn’t as pleasant as the walk from the pond had been earlier, Makoto decides as he hunkers into himself a bit. The wind has picked up and the snow is deeper, plus he’s already cold and wet—and the quiet of the world around him isn’t intimate like it had been on the rink. It’s really kind of eerie, actually, and Makoto shivers again and hurries his steps as much as he can. He’ll take the messy greyness of the streets this time, he thinks.

Only, when he gets there, they’re a lot less lively than they should be.

Makoto supposes he should be glad for that. It means that people are using their sense and staying in, and out of the weather. But Makoto’s never seen the city slow for anything, so it must also mean that it’s pretty bad. Then again, it _is_ his first winter there, so maybe this is normal after all—and his face abruptly warms as he catches himself in the cyclic thought pattern he falls into when he gets anxious. “Silly,” he mutters to himself, and it is. It’s not like he’s driving, or even going to be on the roads. He’s going to walk to the station, get on a train, and that’ll be the end of it. Or near enough. The walk from the stop to his apartment is even shorter than the one from Haru’s.

Things don’t always go as planned, however. Especially when Mother Nature has a hand in it. The resulting chaos from a minor fender bender two intersections away from the station has Makoto running as best he can to try and make his time, though he gives that up when the last crosswalk light is against him. He knows he isn’t going to make it, but at least when he finally does get there, he’ll be sheltered a bit from the wind and snow until the next train comes. Except it doesn’t. And when, after ten minutes go past its arrival time, Makoto calls the number he _somehow_ manages to make out off of the worn and graffiti-laden sign and the tinny recording tells him that there won’t _be_ another train, he feels like he could cry, he’s that cold and tired and _over it_. Even though it means he’ll be going back to Haru’s after all.

As soon as Makoto steps back into the weather, he sniffles and hunches into himself again. The wind is even more biting and there are even less people and cars about; in a way it’s even more eerie than the cut through the park had been. But it’s an uneventful walk back beyond that, and he’s glad for it, gladder still when he finally reaches the shelter of Haru’s stairwell. The climb up has never seemed longer, but eventually he’s there, and he fishes out his cellphone from his pocket. There’s no sense in knocking; Haru will be in the tub. But he’ll have his phone with him, waiting for Makoto’s text that he’d made it home.

_Haru can you come to the door? Turns out I'm snowed in for the night_ , Makoto manages to send once he’s able to make his frozen fingers work to where the message isn’t just a bunch of letters clumsily strung together, and then he drops his phone back into his pocket, tugs his glove back on and waits, already feeling a little bit warmer.


	7. Just Open It

Haruka doesn’t spend (nearly!) every waking moment outside of school in the tub like he used to, but it’s still his favorite late-fall through late-spring retreat, and he still gets annoyed when his time is interrupted. Makoto, as with most everything, is the exception. Haruka may not like it, _per se,_ but he’s come to terms with it. And, since their move to Tokyo, he’s accepted the occasional necessity of it. Some days, the only time they can coordinate any sort of conversation is during Haruka’s soak. And knowing that Makoto has made it home safe is always worth the interruption.

He isn’t expecting Makoto’s text tone so soon, however, and his heart flutters oddly in his chest as he reaches for his phone. Haruka’s eyes go wide when he reads the message and, like that, he’s out of the tub and reaching for a towel, mostly relieved that Makoto’s alright, but also wondering what in the world had happened.

“Ma—” he begins as he opens the door, but he’s abruptly cut off by his friend.

“Haru, get back; you’ll freeze!” Makoto chastises before he’s even taken a full step in, “Geeze, I could have waited another couple of minutes for you to dry off and put on pants at least!” And then Makoto’s face goes red and he looks everywhere _but_ at Haruka as Haruka’s state of undress overrides Makoto’s initial concern.

Haruka rolls his eyes as he closes the door; neither of them can even count the number of times they’ve seen each other like this, or in less, but Makoto _still_ gets flustered any time it occurs outside of a locker room. “What happened?” he asks, ignoring the outburst, but then he truly takes in Makoto’s state as well. “Never mind,” he cuts Makoto off before he speaks. “Go get in the shower. You can tell me about it when you’re done.”

“But Haru—”

“Makoto, I can clean up whatever mess you leave on the floor, just go,” Haruka interrupts, knowing exactly what Makoto was going to fuss about, and he gives a quiet sigh when, after a meek, _okay, Haru-chan,_ Makoto hurries to the bathroom. “Leave your things by the door; I’ll grab them after I dress,” he calls out after him. 

Once he’s changed, Haruka squats in front of his bed to reach into one of the bins beneath it. He pulls out a neatly wrapped package, knowing what’s in it by touch and, after straightening, he drops it on the mattress, grabs a spare of Makoto’s underwear to put with it, and then goes for Makoto’s things. His lips curve down slightly as he gathers them; both shirts that Makoto’d had on are damp, though he’d had his thick green coat on. But then, the coat is soaked and his pants are wet, so perhaps the shirts just wicked the moisture from the other garments. He hopes, anyway.

Haruka has just hung the last of the stack on the laundry rack when the bathroom door opens. Makoto sends him a quick and slightly shy smile as _he_ steps out in a towel, and Haruka’s torn between the ridiculousness and adorableness of it. Haruka watches Makoto pause by the bed from the corners of his eyes as he moves the rack to where it’ll be out of the way; watches that bashfulness turn to curiosity when Makoto sees the gift instead of fresh clothing.

“Haru?”

“It’s for you,” Haru replies to the implied, _what’s this about_ , as he continues to futz with the rack.

“I figured since my underwear are laying on it,” Makoto replies with a bit of a laugh, but there’s a throaty tone to it that taints the usually sweet wound and it doesn’t warm Haru’s heart like it usually does. “But there’re still days until Christmas!”

“It’s fine. Just open it.”

“Haru! Okay, thank you!”

Haru waits a few seconds, then a few seconds more, and then turns to see Makoto gazing at the present, lightly worrying his lower lip.

_Oh, for…_

He loves Makoto’s little quirks. He does. They’re part of the whole of who Makoto is. But they sometimes get in the way of the bigger picture. Like the fact that Makoto is still standing there in only a towel with damp hair out of his reluctance to open a gift from Haruka unless Haruka can enjoy it with him.

Rolling his eyes at the laundry rack, Haruka takes the few steps over to the bed, pointedly ignoring the part of his mind that wants to question if a nearly-naked Makoto in full sight and too distracted to be embarrassed is _truly_ a thing to be upset about. Sure enough, Makoto grins when Haruka joins him and he picks up and opens the present.

“Your wrists and ankles have been showing in some of your others, so.” he explains as Makoto lays out a set of the loose-fitting track pants and long-sleeved tee-shirts he prefers to sleep in during the colder months.

Makoto smiles again, softer but no less brilliantly, as the light color in his cheeks goes deeper. “Haru! Thank you for noticing, and for always taking care of me,” he says, and Haruka pinks, wants to tell him that it’s just pajamas and nothing to warrant Makoto looking at him like he’s just handed him everything he’s ever wanted, but then something shifts in Makoto’s eyes as Makoto takes his lower lip between his teeth and Haruka’s heart starts to speed. They meet gazes for a moment and then Makoto’s shy smile briefly returns; he turns a bit more toward Haruka, blush growing deeper as he leans down toward him. Haruka feels his breath catch, feels the color in his own face grow brighter as he tips it closer to Makoto’s… and then he blinks because suddenly, Makoto is gone. Brow furrowing, Haruka rights his head just as Makoto looses a _huge_ sneeze, his towel dropping to the floor from the force of it.


	8. Sick

The worry that had been niggling at the back of Haruka’s mind since he’d picked up Makoto’s shirts turns out to be valid. By the time Makoto is over his embarrassment enough to stop hiding his face and actually _look_ at Haruka again, signs of a fever are showing in Makoto’s cheeks, nose and eyes. Makoto rarely picks up even a cold, but when he does, he’s _sick_. Fortunately, he bounces back just as rapidly as they hit him. Except for that one time in their last year of middle school when the fever had only continued to climb despite everything Makoto’s mom had done and he’d ended up unconscious and in hospital—and Haruka cuts _that_ thought off with a scowl as he chastises himself for being stupid. Then again, his usually logical mind has turned on him more than once when it’s come to worrying about Makoto.

A raw-sounding sneeze followed by a low groan of pain pulls Haruka out of his head—not that his hands had been idle. A glance at the timer and he pulls the steeper out of the tea he’s prepared for Makoto, grabs the bottles of water and paracetamol that he’d taken out earlier and heads over to the bed.

“Haru, I _hate_ ginger tea,” Makoto complains throatily from somewhere beneath the blankets Haruka had piled up on him once he’d convinced him to forget about the stupid futon, get into bed and lie down, and Haruka smirks a bit to himself. He doesn’t think Makoto knows how whingey he gets when he’s sick, or he doesn’t remember, because _every day_ Makoto, the Makoto who puts everyone else first and who hates to be an inconvenience to anyone, would be both apologetic and appalled. But Haruka doesn’t mind. For as good as Makoto is the remaining 95% of the time, Haruka figures Makoto deserves it. 

“Too bad,” Haruka replies calmly as he stops at the edge of the bed. “It’s what works the quickest and best for Makoto when you’re sick. Besides, at least you can smell it.”

Makoto rolls up onto his side to give Haruka a weak, bleary glare that is entirely ruined by how cute he looks with just his eyes and tousled hair visible from the blankets. “How’s that a _good_ thing?”

“It means you’re not as sick as you could be and that you’ll probably feel better in a day or so—if you drink the tea.” Makoto doesn’t say anything but, after a moment, he _does_ sit up, blankets pooling at his waist and his lips in a moue as he blows a stray bang out of his eyes and holds out his hand. Haruka huffs in amusement at the petulant display as he hands him the water and pain reliever before he straightens to step away and grab his laptop. “Move over,” he says when he returns. “We’ll watch _The Cat Returns_ ‘til you fall asleep since you took your medicine.”

“I’m not five, Haru,” Makoto grumps, but he still shifts over. Haruka holds his tongue and doesn’t point out the obvious: that he’s acting like it. He just hands Makoto his tea once he’s situated, settles onto the mattress beside him and starts the movie.

It seems as if Makoto’s only just handed Haruka his empty mug when Haruka feels the weight of Makoto’s head on his shoulder. He glances over and then shuts down the movie, setting his laptop onto the floor so that he can ease Makoto down and onto the pillow. Makoto’s expression is sweetly peaceful now instead of petulant or pained; thankfully, there’s no sign of a rattle in his exhales and Haruka breathes a quiet sigh of relief. His gaze lands on Makoto’s slightly parted lips and he briefly mourns the near-kiss, though—truthfully—he’s gladder that it _didn’t_ happen. He knows that Makoto would never had gotten over his mortification had he not pulled away in time. That, and Haruka really doesn’t relish the thought of being sneezed on, no matter the circumstance. It’ll happen soon enough, Haruka thinks as he steps into the kitchen to re-moisten the towel for Makoto’s forehead. A slight smirk settles onto his lips. Perhaps he’ll use that promise as the bribe when Makoto balks at his tea the next time.


	9. Spoiling

Makoto loses count of how many times he wakes through the night, but each time, Haru is there, offering medicine, a cool cloth, or gentle words as he fixes Makoto’s pillow and blankets for him. He can’t even recall what Haru actually says, but it’s that which soothes him the most: Haru’s voice and knowing that the person he trusts the most is taking care of him; that there’s no need to put on a front, or power through, or even smile. He can just… be sick, let the virus run its course, and let his body and mind have the downtime they need to get better. And he’s so, _so_ grateful for it that he doesn’t complain at all when Haru pushes that infernal tea at him again.

At some point, Makoto is vaguely aware that there seems more space in the bed, but the next time he wakes, Haru’s there, cool fingers caressing over his forehead and cheek, worry clouding the blue as he presses yet another dose of Paracetamol and bottle of water into Makoto’s hands. This time, Makoto can’t even manage the bottle lid by himself; Haru has to help him, and then helps him take the drink. But, when Makoto wakes again, he’s shivering and soaked, and he knows that the medicine has finally broken his fever.

“Makoto.” Makoto blinks open his eyes, sees Haru’s hand, slightly blurry, and he winces back away from it.

“Don’t, Haru-chan, I feel gross,” he complains, but Haru’s touch comes anyway, and Haru smiles a bit as he pulls his hand back from Makoto’s forehead a few seconds later.

“Your fever’s down,” he confirms, obviously relieved, and he straightens. “Just bear with it a few more minutes while I get the bath water heated, and you can get cleaned up. I ran out so I could make you some of your mom’s kenchinjiru; you can try some of the broth when you’re done, if you feel up to it.”

“Haru.” But Haru’s already gone and, with a soft laugh, Makoto closes his eyes again. Haru had been fast, but not enough that Makoto hadn’t seen the bit of color that had risen in his cheeks.

The bath does Makoto wonders, as they’d both known it would. By the time he’s done and dressed in the last of what clothing he’s left at Haru’s, he’s more than ready to try some of the flavorful broth, and Haru surprises him again by giving him green tea with it instead of the ginger. He’s tired by the time he finishes it, but it’s a good tired, the kind that promises actual, restful sleep, and he doesn’t argue when Haru tells him to lie down again. He does, however—when Haru comes back after taking the dishes away—snag Haru’s hand; he smiles a bit and shakes his head, color of a different sort in his cheeks, when he sees the concern bloom through Haru’s eyes as he settles onto the bed beside him. “I’m fine,” he assures. “I just… Thank you, Haru-chan, for taking care of me and spoiling me.”

Haru blushes and looks away, as Makoto had known he would. “I didn’t spoil you,” he mumbles, but Makoto shakes his head, shifts his hand to lace their fingers together.

“You did,” he persists, and Haru looks at him in surprise because Makoto usually just drops whatever when Haru gets like this. But, sometimes, Makoto thinks it more important that Haru _knows_. “You do every day with your smiles and your teasing, and letting me interrupt your baths, meeting me for dinner even though you’re tired, cooking for me, giving me your ti—” Makoto’s eyes go wide when a slender hand covers his mouth to silence him.

“If you don’t stop now, I will,” Haru warns, but there’s no heat to it—that’s all in Haru’s cheeks—and Makoto softly laughs against the cool skin and nods. The hand slips away and Makoto squeezes the other, adoration bubbling up from the very deepest parts of him as he studies Haru’s profile, the other boy still resolutely looking away, still obviously, and adorably, flustered.

Pushing himself up a bit, Makoto leans in and places a kiss to Haru’s cheek, only it lands more on the corner of Haru’s mouth as Haru turns toward him with the motion. They both go red then, but Makoto doesn’t pull away; he just leans his forehead against Haru’s temple and squeezes his hand again. “Really, Haru, thank you,” he murmurs, and then he chuckles again when Haru just pushes him back to the pillow and tells him to stop being embarrassing.


	10. Watching Him Sleep

Despite how sleepy Makoto had been after his bath and meal, his bit of boldness has him wide awake. He can still feel Haru’s skin against his lips, can still catch the bare hint of Haru’s taste that he’d gotten from his kiss landing so close to Haru’s mouth. Makoto tries to sleep. He does. But all he ends up doing is opening his eyes after a few minutes go by and gazing at Haru instead. Every time Haru catches him at it, Haru goes red and turns away, and Makoto colors as well because he can only imagine the lovestruck look he wears, but he can’t seem to stop himself from doing it anyway.

Finally, Haru grows embarrassed enough that he gives up on his homework entirely. Instead, he settles beside Makoto on the bed and puts on another movie. Makoto feels bad, but a _look_ from Haru silences any apology, so he just swallows it down and tries not to feel guilty, which is easier than it should be with Haru so close and the way Haru starts to absently comb through his hair as they watch. And, eventually, Makoto does end up falling asleep again, or so he surmises when he opens his eyes and sees the black screen of Haru’s monitor instead of the movie as his gaze comes into focus.

It takes another few seconds for that realization to truly register, and then it clicks into place about the same time that Makoto becomes cognizant of a weight against his arm. He looks over at Haru. At some point during the movie, Haru had dozed off as well and Makoto’s heart melts at how sweet Haru looks. Haru’s hair is slightly mussed and his lips are lightly pursed and parted from how his one cheek is pushed so soundly against Makoto’s shoulder, and _oh,_ Makoto loves him, s _o_ much _._

Now, with Haru asleep, Makoto can look to his heart’s content, though—even as he does—he knows his heart will never get its fill of looking at Haru. Haru is beautiful. He always has been. Even though many of Makoto’s earliest memories have clouded with time, it’s one of the things he does remember clearly: being captivated by Haru’s eyes, his coloring, the elegant structure of his features, even when they were at their littlest and their faces were still soft and round. And Haru’s only gotten more beautiful over time as Makoto has come to understand what true beauty is and to know, to truly know, Haru: the Haru who struggles to connect but who, once he does, loves so deeply and purely that it crushes him when one of his bonds is threatened. The Haru who, even when hurting, will still put the person who wounded his heart first and will forgive them without question. The Haru who’d pushed himself into a state of exhaustion, and more times than just this, out of his concern for him. 

“You’re beautiful,” Makoto whispers on a breath, and then, cheeks pinking, “I love you.” And he wants so badly to bring the hand that Haru’s not leaning against up and touch Haru’s face, his hair, but, truthfully, he’s surprised that Haru’s not woken already, Haru’s so in tune with him. So he doesn’t. Because Makoto is tuned into Haru, too, and he knows that the only reason why Haru hasn’t woken is because Haru’s physiological need for the rest has temporarily overridden their bond. So, Makoto just closes his eyes instead and lets himself drift off again. He’s waited this long to touch more than Haru’s hand, to say those whispered words aloud. And they both do need the rest. A little bit longer won’t hurt. 


	11. Faerie Tale

Haruka knows that he should wake up, but he’s more comfortable than he thinks he’s ever been. He’s so comfortable that he really can’t figure out why he’d felt he had to wake anyway. Letting it go seems the better idea, he decides, so he does and turns more into that comfortable warmth, only to stop and pout slightly when something shifts from his legs and threatens to get in the way of it. _Laptop_ , his consciousness surfaces enough to remind him and, without opening his eyes, Haruka makes a fumbling reach to close and grab it, then lets it slip carefully to the floor before returning to his earlier objective. _Better,_ he thinks in sleepy satisfaction as he turns without hinderance, snuggles in until he’s comfortable, and lets his need for sleep claim him again.

The next time Haruka awakens, it’s more fully, but he still doesn’t open his eyes. If anything, he’s even more comfortable than before, and he tries to push even closer into the source of it, only to stop when he finally realizes that it isn’t his mattress he’s attempting to burrow further into. It’s far too firm, and the color is already creeping into his cheeks when he opens his eyes and confirms that, yes, it’s Makoto that he’s sprawled out against, Haruka’s head on Makoto’s chest, just over his heart, their legs lightly tangled together and Makoto’s arm loped around him to secure him there.

Haruka, who usually resents anything too binding or restraining, _really_ likes it, he decides, and he closes his eyes again with a quiet, contented sigh.

After a moment or two, the warmth that envelopes Haruka brings him back from that space and, this time, he’s _wide_ awake, shifting the hand tucked between Makoto’s far arm and flank up as carefully as he can to touch Makoto’s forehead. He sighs again, in relief this time. Makoto’s warm, too, but not feverishly so, which is _fantastic_ since his last dose of Paracetamol had been around one, when he’d taken his broth. It’s dark now, which—it being winter—means that it’s sometime between six-thirty and… well, six-thirty, Haruka thinks wryly, and he shifts just enough to lift his head to see if the window will give him any clue. But the only thing Haruka can confirm from it is that it’s snowing again.

Haruka watches it for a moment or two. The flakes seem larger and to be coming down more gently than the ones they’d been caught in last night, and he’s entranced by it. He’s fortunate in that he has little light pollution given how his apartment sits; it’s not quite the same as watching it fall back home in Iwatobi, but it’s as good as one can get in a city the size of Tokyo, he thinks as he watches the gentle curtain against the backdrop of the night. There isn’t any noise from below tonight, either, and the effect of it all makes him feel a bit spellbound, like he’s in a faerie tale, almost, tucked away high in a secret, sacred place where it’s just him and Makoto.

For a moment, Haruka is taken back years to when he and Makoto would build their castles in the sand. They’d work on them together, Haruka doing the castle itself and Makoto doing the moat and outbuildings. Haruka smiles softly. Those really hadn’t been more than rounded lumps shaped by Makoto’s hands, but they’d been good and solid; just as outbuildings should be, he’d told Makoto more than once when Makoto would fret about their differences in talents. It had been enough to make him smile again and they’d go about their way, the two of them digging and building while they made up stories about who was living in the castle of that particular day and what adventures they would go on.

The memory is a favored one, but then most of Haruka’s favorite memories involve Makoto. He can’t really recall any of the stories that were told, but that’s alright, he thinks as he shifts his head so that he’s looking at Makoto again. They’ve experienced their share of real-life adventures, are writing their life’s story, together. Haruka’s cheeks warm slightly as he thinks about the chapter they’re starting now. Truly, he can’t imagine it with anyone _but_ Makoto, and he finds himself suddenly wondering if his sleeping beauty would wake if Haruka kissed him. _You’re ridiculous,_ he silently laughs at himself a second later, and he nestles back into Makoto’s chest, his eyes falling closed again in contentment as Makoto’s arm subconsciously tightens around him.


	12. Lazy Day

Makoto feels Haru shifting against him and, part awake, but mostly asleep, he snugs his arm a bit more firmly around Haru’s waist. Haru’s bed isn’t meant for two; as it is, their shoulders and knees brush when they opt to sit lengthwise to share a movie, like they had earlier. Then again, from the pleasant weight and warmth sprawled across him, Haru likely isn’t too close to the edge at all. Unless Makoto is caught in the vestiges of a dream, his brain supplies, and the curiosity is enough to bring him to full consciousness.

Color warms pleasantly through Makoto’s cheeks when he realizes that he wasn’t imagining it after all, that Haru is wrapped as snugly around him as his own arm is around Haru. A quiet, but _very_ happy sigh slips past his lips to lightly shift Haru’s mussed hair; Makoto thinks his heart might burst from the intimacy of it, so he makes himself look away, not wanting to interrupt the quiet perfection of the moment. Though he knows that, from how he’d felt Haru’s restlessness before, it won’t be too long before Haru clues in that Makoto is awake and wakes up himself.

The apartment is dark. _Very_ dark and, for a few seconds, Makoto feels guilty. He’d missed his study lab and had cost them both several hours of homework time, not to mention Haru’s Saturday practice sessions. But it wasn’t as if he’d been faking sick, he reminds himself, and he does know that everyone needs a lazy day now and then, even aspiring Olympic athletes and trainers. They work hard, he and Haru, part from necessity, mostly from desire to do the absolute best they can as, side by side, they pursue their separate dreams. Because one day, if they have their way, their dreams will converge and they’ll share the excitement of competitive swimming again, each in the role that suits them best as they continue to compliment and support the other. It’s what drives Makoto every day, and he knows it pushes Haru too, every bit as much as Haru’s determination to swim with Rin does. It’s nothing they’ve _verbally_ spoken about, but they both know it, clear as day. Makoto will be a trainer worthy enough to work with Japan’s Olympic team and Haru will be the first medalist Makoto congratulates at the finish line.

Makoto lingers in that space for a moment, but then he lets the bit of guilt, go. A single missed Saturday at the end of a semester isn’t going to ruin them. Haru softly sighs in his sleep then, as if he's aware of the shift back to quieter thoughts ; he likely is on some level, Makoto thinks with a quiet chuckle and, knowing it won't be long now, he gives into the earlier temptation and lightly combs his fingers through Haru’s hair. The dark locks slip through his fingers like the water Haru adores so much, and Makoto repeats the caress as his eyes start to close. And then he sees a sliver of blue beneath Haru’s lashes and he freezes. He isn’t sure how he should feel, having been caught in the act. Part of him worries; he hadn’t asked permission, after all, but then did he really need to anymore? Especially with Haru sprawled out on him like a starfish. Or octopus, really, for how he’s clinging. Then again, one can’t help what they do when they’re asleep, but Haru hasn’t moved since waking, either-

“Makoto.” Makoto blinks and refocuses, and the color that his musings had drawn into his cheeks deepens when he sees Haru’s look, the one that tells that he’s been caught in his circular thoughts.

“Sorry, Haru-chan,” he apologizes sheepishly, and then, “Is it okay?”

“What, that you were touching me?”

Makoto’s face warms further at the bluntness and he nods. “I mean, I didn’t ask. And then my mind went off. I just really don’t want to mess things up. Because I don’t know what I’m doing,” he shares hesitantly, embarrassedly, in response to Haru’s arched brow.

“I don’t either,” Haru reminds, and then he shifts slightly, bringing a hand up to rest between his chin and Makoto’s chest so that he can better meet Makoto’s gaze. “If Makoto wants to touch me, it’s fine,” he says. “And if I don’t like something, I’ll tell you.”

“Just like always, ne?” Makoto teases without thought. He laughs when Haru glares and tells him to shut up as he rests his head back against Makoto’s chest again and, like that, Makoto’s earlier nervousness is gone. They’re still themselves, still _them_ ; the change in their relationship isn’t going to change that _._ “Same for me,” he says softly a moment or two later as he strokes through Haru’s hair again.

“Feels good,” Haru murmurs against him, and Makoto softly smiles.

“I think so, too.”


	13. First Kiss

Haruka knows that he comes across as standoffish to other people, but he’s actually quite tactile. It’s the feel of the water, the connection to it, that captivates Haruka so, after all, and he’s picky about his clothing, too. He loathes anything too tight around his neck or materials that are too rough, and he’s _definitely_ particular about his jammers and their fit. Physical touch is a bit different, but he’s never minded that either. It just has to be from the right people. Ever since he was little, Haruka has always associated touch with being close to someone. Hugs from his parents and grandmother and, of course, Makoto’s touches and hugs, though those had dwindled significantly as they’d aged. Elementary school had seen to that. But they had still been there, daily, in some form or another, and he’d gotten used to Makoto’s family’s, too: the occasional hug or hair ruffle from Makoto’s mom and dad respectively, and then the twins. Who, Haruka thinks wryly, had made it easier for him to deal with Nagisa when Nagisa had come along, seeing as the twins had been flying at Haru as soon as they’d see him since they’d been toddlers.

But, with things happening as they had with his grandmother and then his parents, it’s Makoto’s touch that he’s most familiar, most comfortable, with. Which is why it’s a bit odd—Haruka thinks as Makoto continues to stroke through his hair—that, tonight, it feels so new. Then again, they haven’t shared a bed in years, and have never held each other like this before, so intimately, for so long. They’ve never almost kissed before, and Haruka’s never felt Makoto’s lips against his skin before tonight. His stomach flutters as he thinks about it, but it’s definitely in a good way. He knows that’s what they’re moving toward next and Haruka is ready for it, he thinks. For as much as he doesn’t usually like change, he wants this. They both do, this shift that seems to have blown in with last night’s storm, though Haruka knows they’ve been building toward it for an age.

Heat threatens Haruka’s face for how fixated he is on it now. It’s all he can think about, feeling Makoto’s lips again, but against his mouth this time. His first kiss. Makoto’s first, he knows as surely as it will be his own. _Their_ first and, as if sensing Haruka’s thought, Makoto’s hand stills, fingers trailing down Haruka’s cheek to tip his head up.

“Haru,” Makoto whispers, and Haruka sees the same want in Makoto’s cheeks, his eyes, as they meet gazes. Heart racing, Haruka places a hand on Makoto’s chest and shifts up to give Makoto his answer, vaguely aware of Makoto’s heart beating just as rapidly beneath his hand as he brings their mouths together. It isn't awkward; they don't bump noses, or clack teeth, or any of the other first-time woes Haruka has heard from locker rooms and movies. There aren't bells or fireworks either, but it's everything Haruka thought that kissing Makoto would be: soft and warm and gentle and perfect.

They part, and Makoto breathes his name like a prayer with his perfect smile; Haruka decides he wants to taste that too, so he kisses Makoto again _._ Makoto’s lips had been slightly parted from the last syllable of Haruka’s name, so Haruka moves his slightly to accommodate; Makoto's move in response, a soft sound slipping from Makoto's mouth into Haruka’s as Makoto's hand cups back of head, and _oh_. It still isn’t bells or fireworks, but Haruka understands now what it means, and that’s his last cognizant thought for a while as he lets their kisses engulf him in the same heady pleasure that diving into the open ocean brings.


	14. Sleeping In

Makoto’s first cognizant breath of the morning draws in the scent of Haru’s hair. His lips curve slightly against it as the smell warms through him, and he thinks that he could wake up every morning like this and never grow tired of it. The two of them never had left the bed last night. Not that they’d done anything more than kiss—though that had been plenty enough, Makoto thinks, face heating as he recalls the state their kisses had left him in. He’d about died when he’d realized that Haru could tell he was aroused—of course he could for how closely they’d held each other—but Haru hadn’t said anything; he’d just shifted slightly so Makoto could feel him, too, and then had kissed him again.

That had been their last for a bit, by unspoken, but mutual, agreement. Things would progress on their own time between them, just as it always had, and Makoto had found the way that they’d held each other, heated foreheads pressed together and sharing their soft, panting breaths, to be equally as intimate. They’d talked a bit after, once they’d calmed: brief, quiet conversations as they’d held each other, stroking along a back, or through hair:

_How long?_

_Forever, I think._

_That’s cheating._

Makoto stifles a chuckle in Haru’s hair as he recalls Haru’s pout from the night before.

_It’s true, though. I **have** loved Haru forever. Or do you mean when I knew what it was?_

_Makoto._

_Hm? Ah, w—well…_

Makoto’s cheeks warm as he thinks about the blushing, stammering mess Haru’s look, the way Haru had breathed his name, had turned him into as they had drawn his attention to his words. Letting his confession slip unintentionally had _not_ been how he’d planned, or had even imagined, it would go. But it had been out there, and he hadn’t been about to deny it. _It’s true,_ he’d said plainly once he’d gathered himself, though his face had still felt on fire. _I love Haru_. _I have forever._

As for when he’d realized what it truly was he’d been feeling, well. They’d never gotten back to that, because Haru had kissed him again, soft and slow and sweet, Haru’s own confession coming against Makoto’s mouth after. The utterance had been more felt than heard, but it hadn’t mattered. It had warmed Makoto just the same as if Haru had shouted it from the rooftop; probably even more so because the moment had been so perfectly Haru: words awkwardly echoing what Haru so openly tells him every day through his actions and expressions.

Haru has loved Makoto for forever, too.

They’d talked about other things for a bit after that, like telling their friends ( _do you think they’ll be surprised? Probably not),_ the upcoming party at _Marron_ , Haru’s last tournament of the year ( _I wish I could come with you, Haru-chan. I know, Makoto; me, too),_ and then going home to Iwatobi after. Makoto had meant to ask about telling their families, but they’d never made it that far; their words had been coming slower, and further apart, by then, and the last thing Makoto remembers for certain is talking about shopping for Ran and Ren. They were doing that today, along with about a half-dozen other stops, and Makoto softly sighs. It means they really can’t laze around anymore than what they’ve already slept in, as much as he’d love to keep laying there and holding Haru. He feels well enough now that it can’t be an excuse and, even if he hadn’t, Haru was leaving tomorrow morning for the week, so things have to be done.

“I can hear you thinking,” Haru complains in his slightly gravelly morning voice, and Makoto blinks and then sheepishly laughs.

“Sorry, Haru-chan.”

“No _chan,”_ Haru grumbles and then he shifts; Makoto lifts his arm and moves his head so Haru can roll over to face him.

“Sorry, Haru,” Makoto says by rote as his hand comes to rest at Haru’s waist. “Good morning,” he follows with as he drinks in Haru’s appearance, slightly grumpy and rumpled, and utterly adorable as he resigns himself to being awake; lips curving higher, he brings his hand up to brush Haru’s bangs from his eyes and then presses a kiss to Haru’s forehead. “Morning breath,” he explains with an awkward warmth in his cheeks when Haru arches a brow, and his own furrow slightly when Haru just snorts in amusement.

“You didn’t care about sick breath last night.”

Makoto gapes in mortification as his entire body goes red, he swears, but then he sees that particular light in Haru’s eyes, and he closes his mouth in a pout. “Haru’s mean,” he says mock-crossly about the tease and he turns his head away, only to have it drawn back by Haru’s touch.

“I’m not. You’re just easy,” Haru retorts, still obviously amused, but then his expression softens. “Kissing Makoto could never be gross,” he says as he lightly traces Makoto’s lower lip with his finger. It brings a blush of a different sort to Makoto, one that he sees mirrored in Haru’s cheeks before Haru dips his head and kisses Makoto long and slow, as if to prove it.


	15. Christmas Shopping

“Do you think they’d like this?”

Haruka rolls his eyes as his boyfriend—and there goes his stomach, swooping slightly again as the word flits through his mind, he thinks in part-amusement, part exasperation—asks the question for what feels like the millionth time. They’ve been Christmas shopping for the twins for almost an hour now, and Haruka’s grown tired of assuring Makoto that his siblings would adore _anything_ from their big brother, so he just trails along. Fortunately, he’s shopped with Makoto frequently enough that he’d made certain they’d tended to their other errands first so that they didn’t run out of time for them.

“Haru?” 

Haruka makes a soft _tsk_ in the back of his throat and then takes a subtle, quieting breath. This is important to Makoto, partly—Haruka knows—because Makoto feels like he has to make up for not actually being there _on Christmas_. Which is foolish; they all know he’s at University now, are all proud of him for being there, the twins every bit as much as his parents. But it’s also part of who Makoto is at his core, so Haruka makes himself try a bit harder to have patience for it and looks at what Makoto is presenting. A slight smile curves his lips when he sees the Doraemon Blu-ray set in Makoto’s hand, and he’s suddenly taken back to nights spent babysitting Ran and Ren with Makoto; bright, childish giggling, elbows and knees, tousled heads on laps and sticky fingers grasping shirts as he and Makoto would carry the (finally!) sleeping twins off to bed. Beyond that, even, are memories of just him and Makoto at Ran and Ren’s age, of sheet tents and snacks and shared blankets as they spent hours with the blue robotic cat… Haruka’s smile curves a bit higher. “Mm. It’s a good find, Makoto.”

“You’re sure? You don’t think they’re getting too old?”

“Makoto, _we_ still watch Doraemon,” Haru points out with the slightest hint of a smirk, and Makoto laughs.

“Alright, fair.” His grin settles into something slightly sheepish. “I know. It was a silly question,” he acknowledges as he puts the set into the shopping bag with the other things he’s chosen for the twins. “It’s just, it’s getting to the point where they’re probably not going to want to share gifts much longer. They were growing up too fast before I left for Tokyo; I can’t think about how much they’ve changed in the time we’ve been gone.”

Makoto sounds more like a parent than a sibling, Haruka thinks as they head up to the register, but it’s with fondness. Haruka gets it. Makoto has adored his siblings since before they were born, and had made a point of being a presence in their lives even beyond what his parents had requested of him. Makoto was like that with everyone though; there was no such thing as _bare minimum_ when it came to his relationships, and no length he wouldn’t go to for any one of his family or friends. Haruka won’t lie. It frustrates him, sometimes, but only because Makoto frequently fails to take care of, or speak up for, himself in the process. Even when it comes to Haruka. _Especially_ when it comes to Haruka, Haruka knows, and Haruka suddenly feels a bit dazed that someone as open and as giving and as _good_ as Makoto has chosen to stay beside him, for likely forever now, he thinks. He _hopes._

Haruka’s throat squeezes slightly and he rolls his eyes at himself for going so sentimental at _all_ , never mind in the middle of _Isetan_ of all places. Besides, the thoughts are foolish. He and Makoto are part of the same whole, so how else would they have ended up, if not together?

“Haru? Haru-chan? Are you alright?” Makoto asks discreetly when Haruka registers his voice and tips his head up to him in question. “You kind of disappeared on me for a few seconds.” Makoto smiles, but the concern is there, soft, in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” Haruka assures, and then, “Ran and Ren probably have changed. It’s only natural because their lives have. Look at the two of us, right? But they’ll still be themselves, too. And they’ll always adore Makoto, no matter what.”

Makoto gapes softly, and then, “Haru, don’t _say_ things like that!” he says in an embarrassed whisper, face pinking.

Haruka knows that, if Makoto's hands weren’t full, they’d be over Makoto’s face. He just doesn’t know why. “Makoto?”

“It makes me want to kiss you, _really badly,”_ Makoto explains in that same voice, color deepening, and Haruka’s eyes go wide as the same heat creeps into his own cheeks.

“Embarrassing,” he mumbles as he turns his gaze away, lips curving up slightly when it’s safe. After a second or two, the smile briefly quirks higher and then he gives Makoto a sidelong look. “Keep track for when we’re home.”

Makoto blinks, and then laughs softly and nods. “Mm,” he agrees, and then, after another few seconds of holding Haruka’s gaze, he catches on and his eyes go wide as his lips part. “Haru,” he part-whinges, part warns, but Haruka just flashes him a full-on smile and then nods ahead of them.

“Pay attention, Makoto. You’re next.”

Makoto huffs, but turns his gaze forward. “Fine,” he says after a moment, and then he glances side-long at Haruka in turn. “Game on, then.” And Haruka laughs, soft and brief, as Makoto steps up to the register. It’s really a draw when it comes to who beats whom more often whenever they game, but in this one of racking up kisses owed, it won’t matter. They’ll both win at the end of the day.

Besides, he knows he’s already up by two. Haruka is fully aware of what his laugh does to Makoto.


	16. Hugging

Makoto should go. He knows this. There are only three more trains scheduled between his place and Haru’s, and he’d have to leave _now_ to catch the first. Which he should. He has homework due for first class tomorrow which is only about three-quarters done; an assignment to turn in for his mid-afternoon session that he’s barely scratched the surface on. He has laundry to do, and he should get some groceries, and with leaving for home in just over two weeks, he _really should study_ for his upcoming exams, because he knows that, once he’s back in Iwatobi, he probably won’t. But, instead, he’s half-heartedly working on leveling a character up, trying to _not_ listen to the sounds of Haru moving around and packing. Because he can’t bring himself to leave Haru yet. Not when Haru’s going to be leaving him.

Makoto rolls his eyes at himself as he fights his way into the next dungeon. Okay, _that_ had been a bit melodramatic, he thinks with a mental snort. Haru’s not leaving _him._ He’s just leaving. And it’s not like it’s for no reason, or that Makoto hadn’t known for months. Besides, Haru’s travel was just beginning. Makoto realizes there would be training camps and even more competitions, many times that Makoto wouldn’t be able to go with him—at least, until he's a part of that entourage. So putting off his responsibilities to sulk over a short four days is foolish, he tells himself, to which that more petulant part of his brain reminds him that he’s young, and in love, so being mopey and irresponsible is expected and okay.

That voice sounded a lot like Kisumi’s, he thinks with a quiet laugh.

Haru walks by him then to place his packed duffel bag by the door and, like that, Makoto’s amusement drains away. Now that Haru is done, he’ll want a bath and then to sleep for his early flight in the morning; Makoto can’t, in good conscience—or even guilty conscience, as the case may be—let himself stay any longer, no matter how badly he wants to. The last save point had been just two rooms back, so Makoto doesn’t bother with pushing on to the next; he just shuts the game off and then pushes back from Haru’s desk.

“You could have finished,” Haru says as Makoto faces him, and Makoto smiles a bit; shakes his head.

“I’ll have to leave soon if I want to catch the next train, and I’d rather spend the time giving you a proper goodbye,” he explains, and he can’t help but delight in the pink that highlights Haru’s cheeks even though he knows it matches his own.

“Are you going to do it from the chair, then?” Haru deadpans after a moment, and the tease snaps Makoto out of his stare.

“Be nice, Haru,” Makoto says as he stands, even as he laughs. He takes the two steps forward, wraps his arms around his boyfriend. “Don’t make picking on me the last memory I have of you before you leave for a week!”

“Mm,” Haru pretends to think for a moment, and then he gives a single nod. “You’re right. That won’t do.” Hands slipping to Makoto’s shoulders, he lifts his face as Makoto tips his head, and Makoto’s entire body warms as their lips, and then their tongues meet. They kiss slowly for several moments, hands occasionally traveling through hair, to a cheek, or down a spine, and Makoto can’t suppress a shiver when Haru’s drop to his waist, just above his hips, as Haru steps into him a bit, bringing their bodies together.

When they part, they’re both breathless and, after kissing Haru a final time, Makoto nuzzles against his cheek. “Travel safe, Haru-chan. You’ll be amazing.” Haru responds with a murmured, _thanks_ into Makoto’s hair, and then, after a moment or two, calls his name; Makoto laughs a bit even as his hug tightens. “I just don’t want to let you go,” he admits lowly in response, cheek heating against Haru’s, and then deeper when Haru eases back and turns Makoto’s face with a touch to his chin so that they can meet eyes.

“I know. Me too. But it’ll go fast, and then that’s the last one for a while.”

Makoto smiles a bit. “I know.” He holds on for just a bit longer and then, dipping his head, he brushes a last kiss over Haru’s mouth and then resolutely grabs his coat. “See you Friday,” he says with a quick smile once he’s ready and, with a brief wave, he steps out, already missing Haru before the door closes.


	17. Baking Christmas Cookies

Haru is right. The week moves quickly, for the most part. By the time Makoto had finally tumbled into bed Sunday night, it had actually been Monday morning. He’d slept so fast and so hard that, when the alarm had sounded, he’d felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. Between that and the remnants of his cold, he’d felt sluggish and stupid all day; the only thing that had gotten him through his homework at the end had been the text he’d received from Haru earlier when Haru had arrived in Sapporo, telling him that he’d made it safe and that he’d call him later. They hadn’t talked for long. Haru would text now, but he still disliked talking on the phone and, beyond that, Haru had been able to tell how tired Makoto had been. It hadn’t been even five minutes, Makoto thinks, before Haru had ordered him to stop pushing himself and to go to bed.

Tuesday had been better. Makoto had felt more himself, more together, plus he’d spent the evening with Kisumi at _Marron_. Makoto has always enjoyed Kisumi’s company. They have a lot in common and, truth told, Makoto finds it almost as hard to imagine Tokyo without Kisumi as without Haru. Makoto has made friends at his university, but Kisumi is part of his core, part of home, and Makoto has found it a little bit easier to make that shift from swimmer to spectator because he’s had Kisumi to share the bleachers with.

It isn’t until Wednesday that time starts to drag. To be fair, it always kind of does because of the lectures Makoto has, but there usually was the promise of meeting Haru for dinner after to keep him going. This week, of course, he doesn’t have that, which—any other time—would have been… well, not ideal, but alright. It wouldn’t be the first Wednesday they’d not been able to keep their plans. But things are different now, and Makoto’s mind constantly strays to how their evening might have differed, too. Would he be bold enough to take Haru’s hand as they walked? Would Haru let him? What would Haru think if he took Haru’s train instead of his own just so he could kiss Haru goodnight? He’d probably blush and call him an idiot, but give him his kiss anyway, Makoto thinks with a soft curve to his lips—and it isn’t until he hears the students around him packing up that he realizes that he’s daydreamed through the last fifteen minutes of his lecture. 

Makoto _doesn’t_ tell Haru that when they talk later. Not because Haru would scold—at least, not much. But Haru likes to tease and Makoto knows that he’d never live it down.

The first part of Thursday goes alright, but Makoto can feel an anticipation building. It’s two-fold, actually: Haru’s matches are today and, in just over twenty-four hours, Haru will be home! At eleven o’clock, Makoto starts watching the time and, when eleven-ten hits, he briefly closes his eyes and sends out the strongest _good luck, Haru-chan!_ he can silently manage. From that point, time seems to slow; he knows that Haru has raced, and will again at two, and then at five for the free-style relay, but it won’t be until close to bedtime that he gets to talk to Haru and find out how he does. And _of course,_ this is the day that not one professor gives a new assignment and, _of course,_ it’s the day that his uni friends and Kisumi are wrapping things up with their clubs and their winter events. Which means that Makoto is left to his own devices on how to pass the time until Haru can call. So, after a text from Kisumi, ( _remind Haru when you talk to him that he said he’d bring cookies Saturday!)_ Makoto decides that, since he’s bored and since Haru will only have just over a day between getting home and the party, he can at least look for an easy recipe for Haru to throw together. Haru has cookie recipes, but nothing specifically _Christmasy_.

Two hours later, Makoto huffs in exasperation as he bins another batch of cookies. He doesn’t know what he’d been thinking. He’s getting _better_ in the kitchen, but he’s never baked on his own before, has only ever has helped Haru or his mom. But it had seemed _so easy_ from how the recipe read, and it had even promised that it was! _The World’s Easiest Christmas Cookie Recipe_ , the website had touted and Makoto scoffs and shoves a flour-covered hand through his hair. That’s what he gets for believing the internet.

Makoto casts a sour look at the bowl and see that there’s about half of the dough left. For a second, he considers binning that, too, but then his eyes set in determination. He’s the one that had decided this was something even _he_ can do. He’s not going to be wasteful, and he’s _certainly_ not going to let a stupid cookie beat him, so he sets to work dropping careful spoonsful of dough on the pan.

Sliding the cookie sheet into the oven, he sets the clock and, as he steps back, he idly wipes a bit of sweat from his face. Beyond that, Makoto doesn’t move, save for his eyes between the timer and the cookies as he watches for those telltale cracks the recipe had mentioned. As the countdown drops closer to zero, Makoto moves in toward the oven and, eventually, “Aha!” Potholder already in hand, he opens the door and slides the cookies out—and he can’t stifle his delighted giggle when he sees how perfect they are. Grinning widely, he pivots slightly to put the cookies on his sliver of a counter, only to knock the pan against it instead and send half of the cookies onto the floor when Haru’s Skype-tone sounds and startles him.

“… _Damn_ it!!” 


	18. Flour and Sugar is a Good Look on You

Haruka has just opened his laptop when Asahi comes in. Haruka’s lips press slightly, but it’s a brief, and very mild, irritation. It’s Asahi’s room too, and Haruka _is_ glad that they’re sharing. Haruka _knows_ Asahi, and Asahi, Haruka; their bond has only strengthened since the spring. Asahi is still loud and slightly rough around the edges, but he has a _good heart_ , and is a steadfast, and loyal, presence in the constantly shifting world of competition and travel that they’ve entered.

Haruka’s grateful for that. But he wants to talk to Makoto now, not Asahi.

“Ne, Haru,” Asahi pauses, tugs his shirt on. “A bunch of us are going to the Sapporo Beer Garden to try that _jingisukan_ ,” he continues once his head’s free. “You in?”

“No.”

“Aw, c’mon, Haru. One night without mackerel won’t— Ahh.”

Haruka looks up. “What?” he asks, eyes slightly narrowed at how Asahi is smirking.

“Nothing, nothing!”

“Hn.” Haruka watches Asahi turn to the bag on his bed, and then looks back to his computer. He tries to be patient, considers just Skyping Makoto anyway—it’s only Asahi, and Asahi knows how sentimental Makoto is. But he’d rather have a private conversation. Especially since Asahi doesn’t know that he and Makoto are together.

“You have time.” Haruka looks up again in question and Asahi smiles. “We’re not meeting for another forty minutes. We won’t be able to drink, of course, but it’s _all you can eat,_ Haru, plus a regional specialty. You _have_ to come,” he cajoles. “I caught Ikuya and Hiyori; they’re in. And I’m pretty sure I heard someone say they do sashimi, too.”

Haruka hesitates. That means there likely _is_ mackerel. And he _is_ hungry, extremely so, after his races. But Makoto is waiting, and he can get a bento after…

“Haru.” Haruka glances up, sees a look in Asahi’s eyes that is, at once, very kind and too knowing. “I’m gonna head down; see what they have in that gift shop. We’re meeting at the fountain if you change your mind.”

Haruka’s lips part softly as Asahi grabs his wallet. They’d walked by that shop on the way in; it’s ridiculously tiny and everything is sure to be ridiculously overpriced. Haruka knows what Asahi is doing and his cheeks warm at the rush of affection he feels; awkward, but not entirely unwelcome. “Asahi. I’ll see you downstairs at the fountain,” he says when Asahi pauses.

“Alright!” Haruka can hear Asahi’s grin though he doesn’t look up again. “Tell Makoto I said hi!” He leaves then and, after taking a second or two, Haruka _finally_ hits the video call on Skype.

There isn’t an answer right away, but Haruka doesn’t fret. Makoto’s not expecting the incoming request. When the connection is finally made, Haruka’s stomach flips in anticipation of seeing Makoto instead of just hearing him. And then Makoto comes into view and Haruka’s jaw lightly drops.

“Haru-chan! This is a surprise!”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Haruka notes something off with Makoto’s tone but, at the moment, he can’t even respond or tell him to quit with the _chan_. Because _oh my god…_

“Haru-chan?”

Haru closes his jaw and tries to repress the grin that threatens. “Makoto what… are you _baking?”_

“Oh! Haha, you can tell, ne?” Makoto says with a sheepish look and a scritch to his chin that just deposits more flour onto his face, and he tells Haru how Kisumi—because _of course_ Kisumi would be the cause of… _this—_ had texted. “I meant it to be a surprise for Haru, but the flour on my shirt probably gave it away, huh?”

And Haruka can’t help it. He _laughs._ Makoto’s face lights up, as always, even as he calls Haruka’s name in confusion, and Haruka can only laugh harder. Because it isn’t just Makoto’s shirt. Makoto is _covered in it,_ and sugar, too, if the light isn’t playing tricks and casting sparkles onto Makoto’s arms and right cheek. “A little bit, yeah,” he manages to chortle, and then he gives Makoto an affectionate smirk. “I’m impressed. The building’s still standing, and I don’t hear any alarms.”

“Haru! This last batch came out really good, I’ll have you know!” Makoto declares with a bit of a pout, and then he vanishes for a second, coming back with a cookie that… actually looks pretty perfect. “See?”

“Mm. Have you tasted them yet?”

Makoto shakes his head. “I was just taking them out of the oven when Haru called. They smell good, though. So, how’d you do?” he asks as he drops into his chair, eyes sparkling with excitement, and Haruka has to bite back another round of laughter; he swears he saw a cloud of flour pouf. Once he’s managed it, he tells Makoto about his races, and the way Makoto’s eyes light with such a fierce pride is enough to make Haruka forget about the state Makoto is in. “I’m so proud of you, Haru-chan,” he says softly, then he grins. “A kiss for each win. Though I don’t know if that should go on my list or yours,” he says with a laugh.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s pretty much a shared list, anyway.”

“Mm.”

They talk for a little longer; about Makoto’s day, Haruka’s flight tomorrow, Makoto coming to Haruka’s after school. “Not even twenty-four hours now,” Makoto says, and Haruka nods, then glances at the clock.

“Makoto, I have to go. I’m meeting Asahi and some others for dinner.” He tells Makoto about the _jingisukan_ and Makoto grins.

“Good for you, Haru. You’ll have to tell me about it tomorrow!”

“Mm.”

“Tell Asahi and the others hi for me?”

“Mm.”

“Travel safe, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” Haruka echoes and then, “Flour and sugar is a good look on you,” he teases with a smirk, and Makoto’s mortified, _Haru!!!_ makes him silently chuckle long after he disconnects and heads downstairs. 


	19. Cancelled Flight

Makoto’s mortification is fairly short-lived. He can’t feel _too_ embarrassed by Haru’s tease, not when he’d been the cause of Haru’s laughter. And, truth told, he can’t blame Haru at all once he goes to look at himself in the mirror. Between what’s on him and what’s all over the kitchen, Makoto is surprised there’d been any flour left for the cookies, and he’s chuckling at himself by the time he gets back to baking. The thought of Haru’s laughter keeps him smiling as he finishes doing battle with the cookies, stays lodged warm and close to his heart as he packages up the four dozen passable ones and then cleans up the kitchen and himself. 

Sleep comes easily for Makoto after—he’d had no idea baking was so _hard_ —but he wakes missing Haru more than he had all week. He doesn’t know if it’s because of their exchange from the night before or because Haru is coming home today, and it doesn’t really matter. All that does is that Haru _is,_ and that’s enough to make the ache tolerable. It helps that Makoto’s two favorite classes are on Fridays; before he knows it, it’s lunch time, and he grabs a bento and a table near the window in the cafeteria, then pulls out his phone.

Before Makoto can even open the Line app, a message from Haru buzzes in.

_How was your morning?_

Makoto grins. _Good,_ he sends back. _Better, now._

_Embarrassing._

Makoto softly laughs. _It’s true. I’m always happiest with Haru, even like this._

_…that just put you ahead on the kiss list._

Makoto laughs again, bento completely forgotten. _I can’t wait to start collecting once you’re home!_

_Soon._

_And me too._

Makoto’s heart warms. He just knows that Haru’s cheeks pinked with his last. _I’ll be over soon as classes are done and I grab my bag._

_Ok._

_*eyeroll* Asahi says hi._

Makoto laughs again. Before he can reply to Haru, Asahi comes in on another line, so Makoto opens it to tell him hi there. There’s no actual message, just a selfie of Asahi crowding in beside Haru as they wait for the bus to take them to the airport. Asahi’s grin is as bright as always and Haru… Haru is beautiful. So beautiful that it takes Makoto a few seconds to see beyond him and notice the falling snow and accumulation through the window behind them. 

_Asahi, thank you!_ he sends with a smiley and a heart, though his own houses a bit of worry now, and then he flips from Asahi’s line back to Haru’s.

_Asahi caught you smiling!_ Several hearts and happy stickers follow this, and then, _There’s a lot of snow there, Haru-chan! And it’s still coming down!_

_No chan. And yeah._

_Makoto, don’t worry. They’re used to it here. Everything’s still on time. I’ll still be home._

Makoto flushes slightly when Haru’s second message comes in on the heels of his first. Haru knows him so well, he thinks again. And that’s not a bad thing. He just wishes he wasn’t such an obvious worry wart all the time.

_Stop worrying about worrying. It’s fine._

Makoto blinks and then laughs, and he just loves Haru _so much,_ so he decides to tell him so.

_Bus is here. See you soon._

Haru’s text comes at the same time Makoto sends his _I love you,_ so Makoto just closes the app and grabs his bento. He’s just opened up his chopsticks when Haru’s tone sounds again. _Me too,_ the preview shows him, with a single heart emoji, and he aches just a little more for Haru’s return even as the message warms him. Smiling a bit, he goes back to the photo Asahi had sent him before. “Soon, Haru-chan,” he whispers to it, and then he saves it from the app to his file.

The backdrop of snow sobers Makoto again as he puts his phone away, and it picks at the back of his mind through his afternoon lectures. He keeps his muted phone on his thigh under his desk, keeps glancing at his watch, doesn’t really draw an easy breath until Haru’s departure time passes. And then, just as he’s leaving his class, his cell vibrates. Makoto’s gut twists slightly as he slips the phone back out of his pocket. “Hi, Haru-chan,” he says quietly, hoping beyond hope his worry is unfounded but knowing as soon as he hears Haru’s clipped tone that his suspicions had been right.

“They’ve canceled our flight,” Haruka states with no preamble. “I won’t be home tonight after all.”

“You can’t help it, Haru,” he soothes, swallowing hard against his own disappointment. “I’d rather have you safe, than home. Well, I’d rather have you safe _and_ home, but.” He lightly clears his throat. “Anyway, when are you flying out, then?”

The sharp breath Haru looses calls to the dread swirling in Makoto’s gut. And for good reason. “Makoto, I don’t know. They can’t tell us. Between the severity of this storm and then the travel volume from winter break, they have no idea when they'll have a flight with room.”


	20. Christmas Wish

“Here you go, Makoto-kun. And you.”

Makoto thanks Akane for the warm drink, and then laughs as she and Kisumi exchange a bit of banter. Their little Christmas party had, obviously, been canceled, to be rescheduled after the first of the year once everyone got back from their travels, but he and Kisumi had decided to meet at _Marron_ all the same. Makoto is glad that they did. Akane is warm and kind like Asahi—if a bit more sharp-witted and sharp-tongued—the café is always cozy, even at its busiest, and—

“Fine, fine. I swear, he knows your voice as well as Asahi’s and Kisumi’s now, Makoto-kun,” Akane says, and Makoto _grins_ as he takes the excited baby from her.

—there’s Tsukushi, who promptly smiles his wide baby smile and tries to grab Makoto’s cheeks with his pudgy little hands.

“Aww, Tsukushi!”

“It’s fine, Kisumi,” Makoto assures with a laugh. “I don’t mind it.”

“It’s not that! I just always thought I was his favorite!”

Makoto laughs again, and then a bit harder when, as if he’d understood what Kisumi had said, Tsukushi twists in Makoto’s grasp and flails his arms toward Kisumi. “See? Tsukushi-chan loves his Kisumi-nii just fine!” he declares as he hands Tsukushi off to him. Tsukushi coos and smiles and settles, and Makoto reaches over to run a hand over his head; lets Tsukushi play with his fingers when he grabs them.

Akane laughs as she comes back to their end of the counter and Makoto glances up at her. “Saturday night with all of Tokyo at your disposal, and the two of you are spending it here, playing with a baby,” she teases them, and then her eyes soften. “I know it isn’t exactly what you’d planned, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. It’s on the house tonight.”

“Akane-san!” Makoto begins to protest, but Akane gives him _a look_ and he quickly shifts gears. “Thank you,” he says with a tilt of his head instead.

Kisumi thanks her, too, and then laughs. “Asahi’s going to pout,” he warns playfully, and Akane shrugs.

“Shouldn’t have gotten himself stuck clear up in Hokkaido then,” she says airily before moving to the register as another customer comes in. Several more follow, college students, from their appearance, and Makoto looks up when someone calls for Kisumi.

“Sachi-kun!” Kisumi greets in turn; he startles Tsukushi, who starts to fuss, and Kisumi softly apologizes to the sleepy baby.

“I’ll take him, Kisumi. You go ahead,” Makoto offers, and Kisumi nods and thanks him.

“I’ll just go say hi,” he promises, and then he tips his head. “Unless you feel like joining them?” he smiles a bit when he sees Makoto’s hesitance. “I know it’s not _our_ party, but they’re good guys, Makoto. And the time’ll pass faster ‘til Asahi and Haru check in again.”

Makoto returns Kisumi’s smile with a soft one of his own. Kisumi’s been his usual, positive self through this whole thing, but Makoto knows that Kisumi misses Asahi just as much as he does Haru. “I’ll get Tsukushi-chan settled in his crib and I’ll be over.” He’s met so many new people in the months that he’s been in Tokyo that it’s second nature now, and he knows that Kisumi won’t join his other friends if Makoto doesn’t.

Catching Akane’s eye, Makoto slips behind the counter at her nod and carefully lays the baby down. His heart softly aches for Ran and Ren as he passes a gentle hand over Tsukushi’s head, but it eases as he reminds himself that home’s barely a week’s wait now, and he steps back out to join Kisumi and the others. They’re mates from Kisumi’s basketball club and they’d come to check out _Marron_ after hearing Kisumi talk it up so much, Sachi says with a friendly grin. The group happily welcomes Makoto and plies him with questions about Meijou Chuo and his program; shares stories about Hidaka and their own—and Kisumi, which Makoto really enjoys, much to Kisumi’s chagrin. It isn’t until he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket that he realizes just how quickly the time _has_ passed, and he excuses himself from the table and steps back by the bar where it’s a _little_ quieter to answer the call.

“Hi, Haru-chan.”

“Hi. Where _are_ you?”

“Ah, sorry for the noise, Haru. I met Kisumi at _Marron_ anyway tonight, then a bunch of his basketball friends showed up, so it’s kind of loud.”

“Ah. Are you having fun?”

“Yeah?” Makoto hedges, and then he smiles a bit into the phone. “But I’d be having more fun with you. I’m still wishing on everything that Santa-san will come early and bring you with him,” he says with a laugh, though he’s never been more serious. “Is there any word?”

“No.” Makoto swallows his sigh and parts his lips to respond but Haru continues before he can. “And we’re over it. Asahi and I are going to rent a car and drive. We’re coming home.” 


	21. It Wouldn't be Christmas Without You

Haruka waits patiently while Makoto wordlessly sputters on the other end. As patiently as he can, anyway. He’ll admit that he doesn’t have much of it left and that what is, is fraying as he waits in line and hopes that one of the three people in front of him doesn’t get the last rental on the lot.

“Haru!” Makoto finally manages. “Haru, you know I want you home, more than anything, but Sapporo’s _so far!_ And, yes, I know that Asahi drives too, but he’s only just gotten his license, and anyway, can the two of you afford it? And the snow! Haru, remember, you _hated_ driving through the snow in Iwatobi when Dad took you out to practice!”

“Well, I hate this more,” Haruka declares, and his lips press when it earns him a distressed call of his name. “Stop trying to talk me out of it like you don’t want me there.” Haruka regrets the snipped words as soon as they slip and his jaw clenches, and then tighter. They’d done their job, alright. Makoto’s not fretting. Haruka can’t tell if he’s _breathing_ from the absolute silence on the other end of the line.

“Haru, I di—”

“I know you didn’t, Makoto.” Haruka can’t help but cut him off, his heart clenches so at the meekness and apology and hurt in Makoto’s tone. “I know. You’re just worried and thinking aloud so nothing gets missed, and I’m _so_ sorry. I— sorry,” he mumbles again after an awkward pause of his own because _sorry_ seems so inadequate and he can’t find the words, neither for his guilt nor to try and explain where the unexpected bite had come from.

“I know, Haru-chan.” And Haruka’s heart hurts more with the gentle forgiveness that he doesn’t feel he deserves but that’s always, _always_ given to him. “You’re tired, and so stressed, and _so_ far away from home. It’d make anyone snippy, I think.” There’s a slight pause and then, “If Haru thinks getting a car is for the best then I won’t say another thing about it. But I’ll still worry,” he admits, very quietly, barely audible over the background noise. “I _have to_. It’s Haru, you know?” 

“I know. I worry about you, too. I can’t imagine how many convenience store bentos or how much cup ramen you’ve eaten this week,” Haruka deadpans; Makoto laughs, as he’d hoped, and it’s genuine, the one from his chest that crinkles Makoto’s eyes just so, as he’d hoped, and _oh_ , Haruka’s heart is both lighter and aching even deeper because of it, the sweet, healing sound that he wishes he was home to see. “Makoto it’ll be fine. We’ll get some sleep before we leave, and I promise, I’ll be careful. Besides, it’s not just Asahi and me. Ikuya and Hiyori got permission to come with us from their coach; there’ll be four of us to split the cost and three the driving because Hiyori can, too. I’ve spent every Christmas with Makoto since we learned about Santa-san and presents in first grade,” he rushes and the reminder pulls his emotions far too close to the surface, but it’s important, and he wants Makoto to _know_. “I’m not going to sit around and risk missing it now, Makoto. Especially our first one together.” And the heat that has settled into Haruka’s cheeks deepens when he hears the soft, _Haru-chan_ , from Makoto’s end.

“Together? Haru!”

**_Damn_** _it._ Haruka’s eyes fall shut and his lips press, his body jolting slightly from how hard Asahi throws his arm over Haruka’s shoulders as he joyously laughs and tells him he’s happy and how it’s about time. Haruka should have known better; he’s _right out in public_ and people he knows are all around, but he’s not thinking right with everything going on, and Makoto has always had a way of drawing the sentimental out of Haruka, anyway.

“Asahi, enough!” Haruka hisses as he pushes his arm off, and then he takes a deep breath and releases it. “By the way, Makoto, Asahi knows,” he says as calmly as he can muster, casting the redhead a glare as he just laughs and slaps him soundly on the back. “He seems happy.”

“You don’t say,” Makoto replies through his laughter and Haruka can’t help but smile a bit and let his irritation go. It would have happened anyway so, while he would have preferred a more controlled, more private, telling, there’s no sense in letting it eat away at what scant good humor he has left. “It’s alright, Haru-chan. It would have happened sooner or later,” Makoto echoes his thoughts, and it’s enough to draw Haruka’s smile wider, the confirmation that, no matter what craziness the world throws at them, their bond is ever-strong.

“Yeah. Though if he doesn’t stop grinning at me like an idiot, I’m giving his seat in the car to someone else.”

“Sorry, sorry! Geeze, a guy can’t even be happy for his friend,” Asahi playfully grouses, but Haruka ignores him because Makoto’s laughing again.

“Haru, you would not!”

“Hn,” he replies noncommittally as they move forward with the line, and Haruka realizes that there’s nobody left in front of him. “I have to go, Makoto. I’m next up.”

“Ah, mm. Keep me posted on the trip?”

“Mm. I’ll text you every stop. See you soon.”

“See you soon,” Makoto echoes and then, softly, “I’m glad, Haru-chan. It just wouldn’t be Christmas without you.”


	22. Fall

By the time Makoto returns to the table, Kisumi is on his phone. _Oh, really?_ Makoto hears Kisumi drawl and Makoto _knows_ that he’s talking to Asahi and that it isn’t about the car. Makoto’s cheeks warm, and then deeper when Kisumi’s grin curves higher.

“Well,” Kisumi continues, “It’s not like it’s new news, but it _is_ nice to have affirmation of what the rest of us have known since seventh grade.”

_Nope. Not about the car at all._ Hoping that his face isn’t as red as he knows it is, Makoto sits again.

“Yo, Tachibana, you okay?”

_Damn._

“That was Asahi,” Kisumi shares with his friends before Makoto can fumble an answer. Their focus shifts to Kisumi, and Makoto breathes a quiet sigh of relief as Kisumi tells them about the car. He adores Kisumi but, sometimes, Kisumi takes his teasing a bit too far for Makoto’s comfort. Though, Kisumi usually realizes it, and it’s likely why he’d drawn attention to himself as soon as he’d hung up, Makoto thinks in affectionate amusement as he’s pulled back into the table’s conversation again.

The next morning affords Makoto a bit of a sleep in. He and Kisumi had stayed at _Marron_ until close and, by the time Makoto had gotten home, he’d been pleasantly exhausted from the laughter and socialization. His mind had, of course, wandered out to Haru, but just knowing that Haru would soon be on his way, that in less than a day he’d be able to see and hold and kiss Haru again, had eased his mind into a pleasant sleep.

When Makoto finally does wake and sees how light it is, he jolts upright with an “Ahh!” and frantically grabs his phone. He has two missed texts from Haru: one from four o’clock, telling him they were leaving, and a second from just an hour ago stating that they were on the ferry in Hakodate. Makoto texts him back, telling him he’s awake, and to stay safe, then he drops back down onto his pillow with a sigh. Now that he is, that worry about the weather and drive starts to niggle at the back of his head again, so he gets up and busies himself with his usual Sunday errands. He’s just getting home from the market when Haru texts to let him know they’re at port in Aomori—still eight hours away, but it’s better than sixteen—or no estimated arrival time at all.

At one point, Makoto asks if Haru wants Makoto to meet him at Haru’s; Haru must have been driving then because the answer doesn’t come until a few hours later. _No,_ _I’ll come to Makoto’s,_ he says, which is perfectly fine with Makoto, even if it does mean another trip out to the market because he _has to_ have fresh mackerel for Haru. A couple more texts come after he starts his homework: one telling him they’d made it to Oshu, and then another three hours after that: _In Koriyama. Should be our last stop._

Makoto tries to get back into his homework after that. He does. But he’s distracted, constantly checking the clock, trying to best-guess where they might be. It’s only a three-hour drive, but Makoto knows that means ideal traffic, which means that the closer they get to Tokyo the longer the trip will be. Which is really a weird thing to think about, he decides before forcing his attention back to his anatomy studies. _Again._

Finally, at just after nine, Makoto gets the text he’s been waiting for: Haru’s dropped the car at Haneda and they’re on the train. Makoto laughs aloud, he’s that relieved and excited, and he closes his books, puts them away, then stands for a moment, debating. They’ve eaten later than this, but Makoto knows Haru prefers not to. Then again, Haru likely won’t have morning practice, what with his coach and most of his team still back in Hokkaido…

In the end, the tub wins out. If Haru _is_ hungry, Makoto can do the miso mackerel Haru had taught him while Haru soaks, he thinks as he starts the bath. While it’s filling, he gets out clothing for Haru, including the tee shirt of Makoto’s that Makoto knows is Haru’s favorite. He’s just placed them in one of the baskets by the tub when the knock comes; heart thumping wildly and already grinning, Makoto rushes to it, nearly tripping over said basket as he turns. He laughs at himself. Haru’s _finally there_ , and he’s having more trouble being patient than he’d had when there’d been hours between them.

As soon as Makoto opens the door, his heart melts, Haru looks so tired and worn. “Okaeri, Haru-chan,” he says softly as he takes Haru’s bag, and then he closes the door behind Haru.

“Tadaima,” Haru replies, and his voice is tired too, but he smiling, a real one, Makoto can always tell, and it melts Makoto’s heart a little more. 

As soon as Haru has his shoes off, he’s moving forward and, as Haru steps into him, Makoto wraps his free arm tight around Haru’s waist. Haru’s hands lightly clench Makoto’s shirt and Makoto feels the slow, deep breath Haru takes of him before stepping back just enough to tip his head up. Makoto kisses him gently, can taste the rest area coffee and the salt from the road snacks on Haru’s breath. “The bath’s ready for you,” Makoto says as he eases back and drops his hold so that he can go set Haru’s bag down by his desk. “I’ve got mackerel, too, if you want to eat first. Haru?” he questions when, as he turns, he sees the start of a pout, but then he laughs a bit, even as his cheeks warm. Without another word, Makoto opens his arms and Haru steps into them again, Haru’s muttered, _idiot_ coming against Makoto’s lips as Makoto lets Haru push them into a gentle fall onto his bed. 


	23. Stay With Me

Haruka is exhausted and, in his current state, he can’t recall when he’d last eaten something that wasn’t crap from a kiosk or vending machine. A bath, mackerel and bed all sound divine, but it’s Makoto that he wants the most, and Makoto _is_ an idiot for not realizing by now that Makoto tops Haruka’s hierarchy of needs, he thinks crossly as he utters the word against Makoto’s lips. _Especially_ when he’s tired and, well, needy. The situation is promptly rectified when Makoto lets Haruka tumble them to the bed. _Not for long,_ Haruka thinks as he loses himself in their kissing. _Just for a little bit, **and then** a bath._

_“...chan._ Haru-chan.” The second call comes with a gentle shaking that pulls Haruka from the doze he’d fallen into, and he blinks owlishly to bring Makoto’s gentle smile into focus. “C’mon,” Makoto says softly, fingers lightly brushing Haru’s bangs back from his eyes. “Let’s get you up and in the tub, then we can go to bed properly.” 

Haruka groans softly at the inconvenience of it all but he rolls off Makoto, just the same; Makoto stands, gives him a hand up, lets Haruka lean against him on the short trip to the bathroom. A gentle kiss is put to the top of Haruka’s head. “It’s all set for you, Haru, clean clothes and all,” Makoto informs against his hair before dropping the loose hold he’d had around Haruka’s waist and stepping back—presumedly to give Haruka his privacy. But Haruka doesn’t want that, not tonight, so he reaches back and lightly snags Makoto around his wrist. “Stay with me.” And he’s tired enough and just done enough with everything that he doesn’t even blush a bit when he asks it.

Makoto, however, has colored enough for both of them, Haruka sees when, after a few seconds of _nothing_ , he looks over his shoulder to see why. As soon as Haruka does, Makoto smiles, a shy, sweet one that makes Haruka’s heart go haywire despite how tired he is. “If Haru wants me to, then okay,” he says. “Start your shower while I get my things.”

It isn’t what Haruka had meant. He’d just wanted Makoto to stay, not necessarily to share the bath, and he can feel the heat creep into his cheeks _now_ , but he doesn’t correct Makoto. _Of course_ Makoto needs to shower, at least, before they go to bed, which Haruka very much wants to do, so Haruka only has himself to blame for Makoto’s presumption. Not that he’s complaining about the unexpected turn of circumstance. 

“Haru?”

“Mm,” Haru says quickly and he lets Makoto’s wrist go, then starts to undress as Makoto walks out. The shower feels heavenly as soon as he steps into it and he feels his exhaustion creep forward again under its warmth as he mechanically scrubs himself down. As he reaches over his right shoulder, a touch comes to his arm; Makoto is behind him, towel around his waist, hanging low beneath his hiplines.

“Let me?”

And Haruka nods and surrenders the sponge.

Makoto’s touches are gentle and thorough, not intended to arouse, but that alone is enough to make Haruka warm, how Makoto can put everything, _everything_ aside, including himself, because of how much he loves Haruka. Not having the words to express what it means, Haruka does the only thing he can and completely surrenders, closing his eyes, leaning back into Makoto, letting go of everything to show his love and trust in turn. He doesn’t even realize that Makoto has finished until Makoto kisses his hair and tells him that he has; taking the hand Makoto offers, Haruka makes his boneless body stand and step into the tub.

It seems as if Haruka has barely leaned back and closed his eyes when Makoto is ready to join him. Sitting up, he pushes forward as far as he can to let Makoto behind him, and then Makoto maneuvers them both until they’re both _mostly_ comfortable. Part of Haruka wonders if they're a bit backward. They've only just gotten together like this, have only ever kissed and held each other, but they’re already bathing and sleeping together. Not that he cares, really. They’ve always been more intimate than most, and it feels right for _them._ That’s all that matters to him.

“Is it good?” Makoto asks softly, lips moving against Haruka’s hair.

“Mm,” Haruka murmurs and he nestles his head more closely into the crook of Makoto’s neck. “Very.” Makoto smiles, Haruka can feel it in how Makoto’s muscles move, and he softly sighs and presses a kiss against Makoto’s pulse point. “Tadaima,” he repeats on a breath, because here, in Makoto’s arms, he _is,_ and as he drifts and lets everything go again, he feels Makoto’s smile widen.

“Okaeri.”


	24. Christmas Eve

Makoto hums just under his breath as he finishes getting ready. He’s not going to lie. He’s _so glad_ that he has hair that he doesn’t have to futz with too much to get it to lay how he likes it, and he chuckles a bit to himself as he recalls how Kisumi will complain about Asahi. And Makoto’s waited on Kisumi before; if _Kisumi_ complains, then Makoto _knows_ it takes a long time. No, Makoto’s time eater is deciding on what to wear, but he’s learned to take care of that first since he can safely rush through everything else if he has to.

Today, though, he doesn’t. He’s spent the last two days working extra hard so that, once classes were done, he’d have the rest of the time to get ready and get to Haru’s at a leisurely pace. Makoto’s grin lights his eyes as he steps back from the mirror. He’s always looked forward to Christmas, and especially the morning. This year, however, it’s all about Christmas Eve for him. Granted, he and Haru have spent ‘most every Christmas Eve together since they’d been old enough to watch the twins. But this year it’s different; they’re hours away from family and they’re a couple now. It’s one of the most romantic nights of the year and it’s theirs to celebrate. Beyond that, he’s just eager to see Haru again.

Makoto had held Haru in the tub Sunday night longer than he probably should have. The water had been quite tepid by the time he’d roused Haru to get them out but, truth told, Makoto hadn’t really noticed, too focused on what he had in his arms, how Haru’s soft breaths felt washing over his neck like that. It had been something special, and beyond the intimacy of sharing a bath with his boyfriend. Because it had been _Haru_ , and Makoto knows better than anyone what bath time means to his best friend. Yet Haru had asked him anyway, his _stay with me_ a sweet, sleepy affirmation of the three words that Haruka had so awkwardly given him the week before.

Once Makoto had gotten them into bed, they’d both fallen asleep pretty much immediately, Makoto curled around Haru, arm around his waist, hand resting just under his shirt at his hip as naturally as if they’d always slept that way. Makoto hadn’t realized just how much of a toll the stress of Haru’s unanticipated adventure had taken on him until he’d woken up Monday morning actually feeling as if he’d _slept_ ; even better, Haru had looked better, too—in the few minutes they’d had together before Haru’d had to leave so that he could get around for his Monday. It’s still something they’re both getting used to, the distance between them. And, in some ways, getting together makes it seem even harder than before. But it’s all worth it, the distance, the difficulty, because it’s Haru. Because it’s _them._

Seeing that it’s time to go, Makoto splashes on a bit of cologne then puts on his overcoat and scarf. His bag is already packed for the night at Haru’s—it means another early morning for them so that he can get back for class, but again, worth it—so it’s just a matter of putting on his shoes and grabbing his backpack, and he’s heading out. The train is packed, but at least it’s on time; before too long, he’s at Haru’s door again.

When Haru answers his knock, it takes a moment for Makoto to find his voice, Haru looks so beautiful in what he’s chosen to wear for their night together, all charcoals and blues to compliment his coloring and elegant features, in clothing that perfectly flatters his trim build.

“Makoto!” Haru hisses, and Makoto blinks, feels his face warm as he spies the blush in Haru’s that tells him he’s been staring.

“Sorry,” he rushes, and he steps in, and then he blushes all over again when he nearly stumbles over Haru’s shoes, he’s so busy just looking at Haru again. “Sorry,” he murmurs again sheepishly, but Haru just shakes his head, takes his hands and tugs him down into a kiss.

“Makoto looks handsome, too,” Haru says against his mouth before pulling back, though he keeps hold of one of Makoto’s hands, gives it a gentle tug.

“Har—oh, _Haru-chan_!” Makoto’s free hand comes up over his mouth and his eyes sting lightly as he stares at the Christmas tree that Haru _somehow_ had found, had gotten up all those stairs and had decorated with folded origami and lights between Monday morning and now. For _him,_ he knows, before Haru even tells him how he knows that Makoto looks forward to the tree every year and how he hadn’t wanted him to go without. “I love it,” he whispers, and then he turns; cups Haru’s cheek with his hand. “I love _you._ ” And he kisses Haru, again and again and again until they’re both breathless.

“I love Makoto, too,” Haru says once he’s caught it, and then he lightly tugs Makoto’s hand again. “Come on. I saved the star for you.” 

Makoto quickly removes his shoes and follows Haru in; dips his head to press a kiss to Haru’s cheek as he takes the star Haru hands him. Makoto’s heart swells as he places it, and his eyes softly sting again as he steps back to look at the tree, _their_ tree, with Haru. He doesn’t know why, but it feels like a promise; the first Christmas of the rest of their lives together. 


	25. Christmas Morning

Haruka hates the mornings that he wakes up before his alarm. His days start early enough as it is. He’ll make an exception of this morning though, he thinks, as he turns under the weight of Makoto’s arm so that he can snuggle into Makoto’s chest. Had he waited for the alarm to sound, they’d have had to hurry out of bed, and lazing in Makoto’s embrace has quickly become one of his favorite things.

Memories from the night before wash through Haruka’s mind as he closes his eyes again. He’d never been one to think about dating, even after he’d realized that he wanted to be with Makoto. They’d already spent as much of their free time together that they’d been able to, even after life becoming busier and more complicated after they’d moved to Tokyo. But had he been, he knows that he wouldn’t have been able to daydream a more perfect date than last night’s had been.

Color briefly rises in Haruka’s cheeks as he recalls how Makoto had speechlessly stared at him when he’d opened the door; how warmth had rushed through himself, not from the look, but from seeing Makoto in turn. Makoto is so, _so_ gorgeous, both inside and out, and Haruka knows that he’s so very lucky. Out of the entire world for his choosing, (whether Makoto believes it or not!) Tachibana Makoto has chosen _him._

Watching Makoto place the star on their tree had brought a gentle ache to Haruka’s heart, but only because he’s so happy, and so, _so_ in love. They’d started a new tradition last night, one that they’d carry through the years, and Haruka had known that Makoto had been having similar thoughts from the gentle glimmer in his eyes. They’d shared a last, slow kiss in front of the tree before stepping out for the night: dinner at KFC and then a stroll through Yebisu Garden’s Christmas market, because it was rumored to be the most romantic, Makoto had shyly shared when Haruka had asked him why that one. And he’d been right. There’d been something magical about strolling through the kiosks, holding hands and sharing hot chocolate under the lights. And after, once they’d gotten home…

Haruka feels the heat build in his cheeks again, feels it wash through low in his gut. His apartment had felt a bit magical, too, lit as it had been by the tree lights alone, and they’d barely had their shoes off when they’d been in each other’s arms again. Haruka can’t really remember the trip from the door to the bed, but his body still recalls the feel of Makoto's hands touching him in places that only Haruka ever had, and his fingers the sensation of Makoto’s body beneath them as they’d explored Makoto in turn, the two of them too lost in their love and want for each other and in the magic of the night to feel any embarrassment over their boldness and desire.

_Haruka,_ Makoto had whimpered brokenly when their groins had inadvertently met because they _just couldn’t get close enough._ It had sent a thrill through Haruka, the sound of his name, the way Makoto’s hand had felt, heavy and large, at his hip, and then around his dick when, with questions asked through whispered names and consents given through breathless nods, they’d shifted apart just enough to undo pants and slip their hands beneath them to find each other. It had been a double-edged pleasure, Haruka thinks, swallowing softly, half-aroused now just from the recollection of it. They’d taken another step together and release had been found unlike any Haruka had ever experienced on his own. But, through that one act, it’s become a pull as strong to Haruka as the water, the way Makoto feels in his hand, heavy and thick, his soft, sensual noises and pleas, the face he makes as he comes.

And Haruka has never been one to deny himself his addictions.

“Mm, Haru…”

Not that he believes it will be any concern, Haruka thinks in dazed satisfaction as Makoto stretches against him, hand slipping up to splay across his back beneath the tee-shirt he’d put on after they’d cleaned up the night before. They don’t have time this morning; Christmas day doesn’t fall within winter break this year so it’s a day like any other. But the promise is there in the firm line of Makoto’s dick against his thigh, the way Makoto pulls him even closer, the way Makoto kisses him, lazy and deep without a thought for having just woken up and what his breath might be like. Haruka knows that Makoto feels it too, that addiction, that want for more and, for now, that’s enough. They’ve got the rest of their lives to explore this need that Haruka doesn’t think will ever be sated for either of them.

Fingers slipping into Makoto’s hair, Haruka chases the kiss into Makoto’s mouth, takes a slow taste of his own before they naturally part. Makoto smiles softly, presses his lips to the tip of Haruka’s nose. “Merry Christmas, Haru-chan,” he murmurs and then nuzzles their noses after; Haruka’s cheeks warm at the sweet, sentimental gesture.

“Merry Christmas,” he returns before tugging Makoto down for another kiss, only to pause when Makoto smiles against his lips. “What?”

“No, _drop the -chan,_ this morning?” he teases, and Haruka lightly rolls his eyes.

“Just ‘cause it’s _Christmas_ morning,” he replies and then he takes his kiss, both of them ignoring the alarm for several moments after it starts to go off.


	26. Snowball

Haruka shuts his locker and then lightly rolls his shoulders; gives a soft grunt of satisfaction before heading outside. The rest of the Hidaka swim team had made it back, in stages, by late Christmas Eve, which had meant resuming their usual practice schedule for the rest of the week. Haruka had, of course, swam on his own and had worked through both the team coach’s and Azuma’s regimens, but there was always a different feel to a coach-led practice to begin with, and theirs had come home from Hokkaido determined to make up for the time they’d lost. It had been like _Goro the Demon_ multiplied by ten, but it’s an ache that Haruka’s never minded, and it’s part of what has to be done on the road to his dream.

Part of Haruka still resents having been chased out of Makoto’s embrace by the alarm, but it’s another—albeit far eviler—necessity that he—that _they—_ just have to endure. He’d gotten to wake up in Makoto’s arms at least; had gotten to kiss him good morning and goodbye, had gotten to see to his breakfast and morning coffee, as quick as everything had been for what little time they’d left themselves after having ignored the alarm. It’s something else that he could quickly get used to, he thinks, and maybe, _maybe_ the days that they spend apart and the evenings that they are too buried in practices and homework to do more than check in and wish each other goodnight would be a little more tolerable if they could start the mornings and end the nights together. “Embarrassing,” Haruka mutters of his own sentimentality, but his lips curve upward just the same.

“Oho!” Haruka casts a sidelong glance at Asahi, who’s fallen into step beside him. “Looks like you’re thinking something good from that smile,” Asahi teases, and then his grin sharpens. “And I bet I know what it is.”

Haruka rolls his eyes as hints of heat creep into his cheeks, though his slight smile remains. “Like Kisumi was any less happy that you made it home in time for Christmas Eve,” he gives back, and his smile briefly widens when Asahi blinks in surprise at the tease, and then laughs.

“Yeah, he was pretty thrilled,” Asahi declares, smile softening at the edges as it always does when it’s just the two of them and he speaks about his partner. “And it was such a good night. It’s been hard to settle into anything since,” he admits, slipping his hands into his pockets.

Haruka thinks about the night he’d spent with Makoto and he smiles again and nods. “Yeah. I know what you…” He trails off when Asahi suddenly stops and dips down, and then his eyes widen as Asahi straightens again. With a handful of snow. That he starts packing into a snowball with a _very_ maniacal grin.

“Oi,” Haruka warns, all traces of amusement vanishing. “Don’t you even _think_ about throwing that at me. I mean it.”

Asahi’s teasing grin widens to glint in his eyes. “But it’s too perfect a snowball to let go to waste and, besides, I gotta get rid of _some_ of this energy before class, right?”

“Hn.” Haruka turns slightly when he hears Kisumi’s drawl, watches as Kisumi slips an arm around Asahi. “Why don’t you save it for later with me instead of teasing Haru with it?” he suggests in a way that brings color to both Asahi’s cheeks and Haruka’s. It’s impossible to miss what Kisumi is insinuating and Haruka feels a bit awkward from it, as if he’s somehow intruding on something private, though they are very much out in public. And it makes him miss Makoto, Haruka admits to himself as he watches the two of them walk off after they part ways at the next crosswalk, Asahi and Kisumi holding hands, heads tipped toward each other’s as they share a conversation meant only for them.

For a second or two, Haruka laments that things hadn’t worked out for him and Makoto like it had with their two friends; that he and Makoto hadn’t ended up at the same university. Logically, he knows that it just hadn’t been possible. Even if Haruka hadn’t gotten so lost in their senior year of high school and had kept on track with Makoto in planning his future, Makoto’s university doesn’t have a swim team and Hidaka’s sports medicine program doesn’t have the reputation that Meijo Chuo’s does. So there’s no sense in wishing for it, Haruka thinks stoically, and he lets the bit of melancholy pass, reminding himself that it could have been _so_ much worse than what they have it. 

Haruka’s phone buzzes then, Makoto’s text tone, and he takes it out of his pocket.

_Study group canceled, so dinner tonight? Maybe ramen and then we can study at my place after!_

Haruka smiles to himself as he answers with a _yes_. Besides, fate has always had its own way of seeing to him and Makoto.


	27. Nobody Should be Alone for the Holidays

Haruka really shouldn’t be as eager as he is to be meeting Makoto for dinner. They’d just seen each other that morning, for gods’ sake, and they ate together all the time. But the ache that had settled as he’d watched Asahi and Kisumi that morning had never really gone away and, he’d reminded himself once he’d gotten over his bit of self-imposed embarrassment for it, he’s always look forward to seeing Makoto, even back in the days when he’d never showed it.

 _Especially_ back in the days when he’d never showed it.

Haruka had been lost then, too; maybe worse, even, than in his senior year. What twelve-year-old wouldn’t have been, he's come to realize, when just being who they were hurt someone important to them? And when his solution—to quit swimming—had hurt Ikuya as badly as his swimming had hurt Rin, Haruka hadn’t known what else to do but to isolate and try to push _everyone_ out, to keep everyone away lest he hurt someone _again_. But Makoto had never quit scaling those walls, had never given up on him, had always been there with his warm smile and open hand, proving—through his gentle obstinance—that neither Haruka nor his gift in the water were toxic, that they were, instead, welcome and _good,_ because how could either be bad when someone as good as Makoto desired them both?

Makoto had been the single bright point in his life during that time, had saved him… and _damn_ it, the walk from the bus drop to Meijo Chuo’s Health Sciences building has never seemed so long, Haruka thinks with a snort that’s part exasperation and part amusement as his heart threatens to overflow _again._

The campus is busy, as usual, but Haruka has been there so many times by now that he knows the student shortcuts by rote and it’s only a few minutes before he can see where he needs to be, can see Makoto’s head over the others exiting the doors by which they usually meet. He’s just come around the pavilion to the short walk that will lead him there when a female, a westerner, calls out to Makoto in awkward Japanese to please wait for a moment, that she has something to ask. Haruka’s eyes narrow slightly. It doesn’t mean a confession, but something in the brazen, familiar way this girl had called for Makoto has him on edge.

“I know that Christmas isn’t a thing in Japan like it is in a lot of other places,” she begins right away once Makoto has stopped, “But where I’m from, we think that nobody should be alone for the holidays.” She steps forward then, into Makoto’s personal space, and Haruka’s lips press. “So _I_ think that _you_ should spend tonight with _me_ ,” she finishes, a manicured nail moving from her chest to Makoto’s and then back again in further emphasis.

Makoto smiles, because it’s what Makoto does, but it’s one of his forced ones, the one he gives when he’s been pushed into an awkward position but still wants to be polite, and his face is red from both her implications and incredibly forward behavior. “That’s kind of you, Becca-san,” he begins and Haruka can see it’s taking all he has to not take a step back and put proper distance between them, “But I’m _not_ spending the holiday alone.”

This _Becca_ girl pouts softly. “You have someone, huh.”

“Mm,” Makoto confirms with a nod, and the girl exhales dramatically.

“Well, too bad for me, I guess, but I’m happy for you, Makoto-kun,” she says, and Makoto thanks her politely then turns to head down the stairs, his entire face lighting up when he sees Haruka waiting at the bottom for him.

“Hi, Haru,” he greets and, as Haruka turns after returning it, Makoto falls into step beside him, and then softly gasps when Haruka takes his hand, interlacing their fingers, as they walk.

“It’s fine,” Haruka says before Makoto can question. “Now she knows you were being honest, right?” _And she won’t bother you again,_ Haruka silently tacks on under Makoto’s soft, _mm._ Haruka glances over his shoulder then and, when he sees the girl’s wide-eyed stare, he turns back with a satisfied smile. Haruka has no doubt that _Becca-san_ will tell all of her friends that Makoto is taken, too.


	28. Holiday Travel is the Worst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive any wonky formatting. My laptop died and I am attempting this from my phone. I promise to fix any weirdness as soon as I can! 💖

Both Makoto and Haru had kept their Fridays light when they’d planned their schedules. Their intent had been that, this way, they’d have at least one day that they’d be able to spend some actual time together instead of rushing through a meal, or less, after classes and practices. It’s worked fairly well for them, but never better than today, Makoto thinks, and he knows that he really should be concentrating on his practice test, but he can’t help it, he’s just so excited. Winter holiday doesn’t officially start until after Saturday’s activities, but Makoto and Haru are going back to Iwatobi today.

They hadn’t been certain when they’d be able to leave until about three weeks ago. Makoto had been able to schedule the time off and Haru’s team coach had told them all early that he was exempting them from that weekend’s practices, but Azuma had held out to where Makoto had started to fret over whether or not they’d get tickets to leave at _any_ time that first weekend. Finally, after confirming with Coach Sasabe that ISC would be available and constructing a rather rigid training schedule that included Haru emailing in his times, Azuma had granted his consent, and they’d snagged the last two tickets on the first train available after Makoto’s class finishes at one. _If it ever does,_ Makoto thinks as glances at the clock, and then his eyes go extremely wide. Fifteen minutes left with ten questions remaining. _Crap._

Finally, both the test and class are over—the former just in the nick of time for the latter—and Makoto is on his way back to his apartment. He’d packed up his last-minute things that morning, so all he has to do is change, grab his bag, and head out to meet Haru at the large station between their apartments. His eyes go wide when he sees the flow of people just trying to get _into_ the building. He’d anticipated that it would be even busier than normal because of winter break and the approaching new year, but he’d not been prepared for this.

Feeling a waver of anxiety flicker through him, Makoto blindly digs for his ticket as he apologetically pushes his way through. Once he has it and it’s safe to, he reviews the number he’s already memorized just to ensure that he hadn’t done so incorrectly, and then he locates his gate and platform on the first monitor the crowd gives him more than two seconds to pause in front of. It isn’t the gate furthest from the entry point, but it’s far enough; by the time Makoto spies Haru waiting just beyond the turnstile from him, he’s more than just a little harried and is already planning to save up a little bit extra every month so that, next time, he and Haru can just _fly_. 

“Holiday travel is the _worst_ ,” Makoto declares on a sigh after greeting Haru once he’s scanned through, though he’s already feeling calmer, just from having seen Haru. Haru arches a brow and then huffs a laugh. “What?”

“You say that like you’ve been around the world six times between Christmas and the new year instead of having successfully navigated the terminal,” Haru states, voice even, but with a slight curve to his lips that broadcasts his amusement loud and clear.

“Mean, Haru,” Makoto gives back after a slight gape, but Haru just rolls his eyes and takes him by the hand.

“Come on. We’ll get on the train and then the worst will be over for you.”

“Ho—oh, excuse me!” Makoto interrupts himself to offer over his shoulder to someone. “How do you figure that?” he continues, and then he huffs when Haru ignores him. “Haru?” he asks again once they’ve found their car and are in the compartment.

“Because,” Haru finally replies as they side-step into their seats. “Now that we’re on, you’ll be asleep before the train leaves Tokyo.”

“Haru!” But Makoto’s protest is ruined by his laugh. He can’t help it, because he can’t deny that Haru is _probably_ right. And it’s just a little thing, such a _stupid_ little thing, but it makes him fall for Haru even more; this boy who’s known him forever, who knows all his foibles and quirks, and who’s decided to love him anyway.


	29. How Many Lights Does One Tree Need, Anyway?

Haru hadn’t _quite_ been right. Makoto remembers having seen Hamamatsu before he’d dozed off, but that doesn’t stop Haru from smirking anyway when he wakes Makoto in Tottori. Makoto lets him have it with a yawn and a sheepish grin, to which Haru simply rolls his eyes and, with _the softest_ smile, offers him a hand up, keeping hold of it until they are on the commuter, though the Tottori station is dead compared to Tokyo’s.

“I’ll wake you when I see Iwatobi,” Haru says after they sit, and Makoto pouts, though ruins it with a yawn.

“That was a waking up yawn, Haru!”

“Hn.”

“It was! And besides, I couldn’t sleep now if I wanted.”

“Iwatobi’s too close,” And Makoto can tell from Haru’s expression, from how he says it versus asks, that Haru feels it, too, the call of their hometown.

“Mm.” The train moves then and Makoto squeezes Haru’s hand in his excitement. He lives in Tokyo now, and any place Haru is will be home. But Iwatobi, the place where he’d been born, where he and Haru had met, had grown up, had grown close, had fought, had fallen in love; there will never be any place like it.

“We’ll be back.” Makoto looks over at Haru. “One day, we’ll be back for good. Home is with Makoto, but there’s too much Iwatobi in us, and us in Iwatobi, to stay away forever.”

“Haru.” Makoto swallows softly, squeezes Haru’s hand again. “I was just thinking the same.”

The twenty minutes between Tottori and Iwatobi pass quickly, and soon, Makoto and Haru are making a walk that’s as ingrained in them as their names. The night is brisk and snowy, but completely different than the snow in Tokyo; fresh, and briny like the sea. Makoto closes his eyes, takes a deep breath of it, and then opens them again when he hears Haru do the same. Haru’s looking at him, too, and they laugh together, the winter breeze carrying it out to the sea with the soft snowflakes that, Makoto whimsically thinks, have decided to fall just for them.

As they near the ocean, their footsteps slow. The beach is dark save for the faint buoy lights; they can’t see much, but it doesn’t matter. Their minds supply what their eyes can’t provide, and Makoto isn’t surprised when Haru comes to a stop, eyes trained out on the ocean. The tide is coming in, the waves slightly rough in the winter wind; Makoto feels a shiver run through Haru that has nothing to do with the weather and he chuckles softly, dips his head to kiss Haru’s hair. “Tomorrow, Haru-chan,” he promises. “We’ll come tomorrow, and you can look as long as you want. If you promise to not try and swim,” he adds quickly, and he laughs again when it earns him a softly huffed, _annoying._

After looking for another few seconds, they continue toward the mountain shrine, toward their childhood homes. Haru’s parents won’t be in until Sunday evening, but Makoto’s family is waiting, and their steps speed, Haru’s as much as Makoto’s, in their eagerness to be with them. It warms Makoto, the reciprocal love Haru and his family have for each other, how the two most important pieces of his heart so seamlessly make it whole.

Before too long, they’re at the base of the stairway they’ve climbed more times than they can count. So many memories flood Makoto’s mind as they mount it: years of them, some faded, some more prominent.

_Makoto is Makoto! … Haru, come with me!_

To date, it’s still one of the most important conversations he’s had, for the clarity it had given him about himself and his feelings for Haru; about Haru’s feelings for him. Makoto blushes softly as he thinks about that confession, so innocent and earnest, and how Haru had returned it in his own way. Had they known then, on some level, he wonders, that they would end up like this? Together and so, _so_ in love in every way possible?

Makoto hears Haru’s soft intake of breath at about the same time he realizes that Haru has stopped. “Makoto, look,” Haru says when Makoto turns to him in question and Makoto follows the tilt of Haru’s chin—and then gapes for a second before he starts laughing. His house is lit up, warm and welcoming as always, but it’s the colorful glow from one of the windows visible over the fence line that has captured their attention; it’s clear that Makoto’s parents had left decorating the tree to Ran and Ren.

“Geeze,” Makoto groans through his laughter, though his eyes are soft and bright with the love he carries for his siblings, “How many lights does one tree need anyway?”

Haru softly laughs as well. “This from the guy who used to wrap them so closely we couldn’t even see the bottom part of the tree?”

“Haru! It was the only place I could reach!” Makoto protests, still chuckling, though it’s silenced when he feels the soft press of lips to his cheek.

“Hush. It was cute,” Haru says softly, and then even more quietly, “Makoto is always cute.”

“Haru.” Makoto turns, cups Haru’s cheek and kisses him tenderly. “So is Haru,” he murmurs against Haru’s lips, soft, slightly damp from his kiss, and so inviting that Makoto has to take another taste, and then another when he finds himself wondering how long it will be before he’s able to do so again. Haru’s fingers caress his cheek, and then gently push his mouth to the side with a softly huffed laugh when Makoto dives in for another; Makoto grins sheepishly and pecks him on the nose instead. “Okay, I’m ready now,” he murmurs, laughing again when Haru softly calls him an idiot with pinked cheeks and a squeeze of his hand, and they continue up the stairs to where their family is waiting.


	30. Christmas with Children

“’ni-chan! Haru-chan!” Makoto hears the twin calls but his brain is just _slightly_ too slow to register what it means until a solid weight lands squarely on his gut and knocks the air out of him. Eyes wide, he sits up with a start to gasp for breath, and he nearly sends Ran tumbling off him. “Owww,” he groans on his exhale with a wince as she squeals and throws her arms around his neck. Haru’s groggy assurance to Ren that he’s fine tells Makoto that Haru had been treated to the same, and he looks up at the bed. Haru’s expression probably matches his own, he thinks, a mixture of lingering sleep, amusement and pain, and he can’t help but laugh as their eyes meet. His face warms with his heart when he sees how the sound makes the pretty blue of Haru’s eyes shine just a bit brighter.

The twins’ energy is contagious. It might not be Christmas morning, but it feels like it all the same, and Makoto is glad for it, glad that his— _their_ , for he knows that the twins love Haru as much as Makoto does—absence on the actual day hadn’t diminished his siblings’ enjoyment of the celebration. Far too soon for Makoto’s liking, the twins will be off and pursuing their dreams like he and Haru are. And Makoto knows that there will always be days, like Obon and New Year, when the family will do everything they can to come together, but they will never be like they are _right now_ , so he cherishes these times; knows that he will forever treasure the sweet memories they are making.

The holiday feeling continues even after they’re downstairs. It’s one of only a few days a year that Makoto’s mom delays breakfast, but Makoto can smell the subtle deliciousness of her miso waiting for them; instinctively knows, though he can’t see the fish, that there will be mackerel with the salmon, and the kobachi she prepares for special mornings instead of her usual fresh salad. A tray of steaming beverages waits on the low table and Makoto’s gaze softens when he sees that his mom has used the mugs that have been his and Haru’s since before the twins were born, though Makoto’s has coffee and Haru’s tea, instead of the hot cocoa that had filled them in their younger years.

Gathered around the ridiculously over-lit tree that Makoto has decided is one of his absolute _favorites,_ the group exchanges gifts through bouts of laughter and reminiscences, and Makoto and Haru add their own bit of entertainment when they inadvertently surprise the other with a present they’d each held back to give to the other with the family. There isn’t anything especially romantic or intimate about either of the gifts, but they’re something that each of them needs; practicalities that hadn’t been voiced, but rather, had been inferred through observation and how well they know each other, and the looks they receive in exchange are as soft as their spoken gratitudes.

Once everything has been opened, the twins rush off to play, and Makoto grins. “It’s like they’re still seven instead of fourteen,” he says fondly, and his mom softly laughs.

“Mm. There isn’t anything quite like Christmas with children,” she agrees as she sets her empty cup back onto the tray. “Though, they’re not the only ones who look like they were given the world this Christmas.”

There’s no misinterpreting the soft, pointed look Makoto’s mom sends in their direction, and Makoto’s stomach flips softly as heat creeps into his cheeks. It’s not that he’s afraid, per se. His parents are neither close-minded nor clueless, and he’s sure that they’ve thought for a while that his friendship with Haru is deeper than what is typical for two young men. But between getting in so late last night and then the excitement this morning, they’d not had a chance to say anything, and he worries that his parents will have the wrong perception: that they’d been trying to hide it, or worse, were embarrassed by it. “Mom,” Makoto begins, but her light touch to his wrist silences the words that he’s not even sure how to string together.

“Sweetheart, it’s fine,” she assures gently as she moves her hand to take Makoto’s empty mug. “Papa and I have thought for a while that you’d end up together. It may not be the easiest path with the world still being how it is at times, but we love you. Both of you,” she emphasizes with an equally as tender look to Haru, “And you have our support. All we’ve ever wanted for either of you is for you to be happy.”

“Thanks, Mom. Dad.” Makoto’s voice is soft, slightly thick with his gratitude and love for his family, for Haru as Haru reaches over and lightly covers Makoto’s other hand with his own as he softly iterates the sentiment. Makoto laughs then, slightly shakily, as he turns his hand over to interlace their fingers; he’s relieved, but also a bit embarrassed for having been so obvious in front of his family. 

“It’s alright, Son.” Makoto looks up in surprise, meets the eyes so similar to his own. “You didn’t do anything untoward. I just know what love looks like.” She sends an impish glance to his father, who colors high in his cheeks and in the tips of his ears, just as Makoto does.

“Oi,” he grumbles, and it’s so like Haru that Makoto laughs, and then they _all_ are, and Makoto sees the love that overflows his heart mirrored in his parents’ eyes, in Haru’s, and his throat lightly closes again. Because out of everything he’s been given, both that morning and through the years, there aren’t any gifts more precious to him than the love and acceptance his parents have given him every day of his life, and that of Haru’s heart.


	31. New Year's Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 31 already? Wow! The month sure flew! And I had so much fun with this! Thanks to all of you who commented and left kudos, and I hope for a fabulous 2020 for you all. Be Blessed! ♥

“Haruka.”

The soft call from his doorway brings Haruka’s eyes open. “Mom?” he returns as he sits up, trying to peer through the dark.

“Everything is fine, Son,” she softly assures, assuaging the bit of worry she must have sensed. “It’s near time to go over and start the toshikoshi soba, and Tachibana-san and I thought you should help us this year. You should know how to make it for you and Makoto-kun in case there’s ever a year you can’t get back home to us,” she explains. Haruka’s face warms. His parents had been as accepting as Makoto’s when he and Makoto had shared their news over lunch on Monday, just as he’d suspected—had assured Makoto—that they would. But this made their families’ approvals feel all the more real, somehow; their mothers passing on the shared family tradition to him for his and Makoto’s. 

The three of them are near done the process when Makoto comes into the kitchen. He’s dressed, having known that Haruka’s mother would be there, but he’s obviously surprised to see Haruka there, too, in apron and with flour-covered hands, and Haruka can tell when the significance of his presence strikes him. Makoto’s cheeks color slightly, and his eyes go _very_ soft as his happiness lights him from inside out, and _oh,_ Haruka loves him so, _so_ much, but he _really_ wishes that Makoto would stop staring. “Makoto,” he finally hisses when not even the soft sounds of their mothers’ giggling pulls him out; Makoto starts, then blushes deeply and stammers an apology through their renewed laughter. Makoto flees and they get back to work, and Haruka is extremely grateful that neither woman says anything about it, even after Makoto comes back in to get the glass of juice he’d been after in the first place.

Once the noodles are finished, Haruka and his mother clean up the kitchen while Tachibana-san brews coffee and tea. Haruka can hear his father in the living room with Makoto and Makoto’s dad, can hear Doraemon beneath the conversation, which means that Ran and Ren are in there, too, and the slightest of smiles curves his lips. They’ve done this for years, their families, since before the twins, since before his grandmother had passed. But she is there with them too, he knows, in the recipe he’s learned, in the aprons that his two mothers had worn, both handcrafted by the woman he’d loved so. Everything is as it should be, he thinks, as he takes his own off and follows them into the living room. 

As with every year, both fathers stand as their wives enter the room; Tachibana-san passes the tray off to Makoto’s dad and the two women sit while their husbands prepare their cups how they like and then serve them. It’s a scene that’s as engrained into Haruka’s memory as the soba and osechi, as the fireworks and the first sunrise, this moment that represents the couples’ mutual respect and gratitude toward each other, that captures the reciprocal love, the balance of give and take that has kept their relationships strong. In a way, it’s like the new year itself, Haruka thinks as he watches the exchange: knowing what to hold onto and what to let go, and he contemplates how things like the soba and midnight kisses symbolize that carryover. 

“Haru-chan.” Haruka looks up, ready to chide Makoto, but the rote response dies on his lips as his eyes take in the cup of tea being offered, the soft color in Makoto’s cheeks, the love in his gaze. “Thank you, Haru-chan, for your hard work this morning. For everything, really,” he amends on a gentle laugh, and then, “But most of all, for loving me.” The quietly murmured words bring back wispy memories of similar statements overheard from the older couples, ones that Haruka had always been aware of but had relegated to the back of his mind out of embarrassment at first and understanding later. The day will only get busier after this, between the bonenkai parties, the boisterous evening meal and the night gathered at the shrine with their neighbors and friends, so these few minutes of rest had always been the time for their parents to take a private moment within the sanctity of home and family, whether they celebrated at the Tachibana's or the Nanase's.

“Makoto,” Haruka breathes, and then, with a “Mm,” he takes the cup; as Makoto passes it, so does another tradition from their families to the two of them and, to complete it, Haruka leans up and places a chaste kiss to Makoto’s cheek. “Thank you. For all that you do, and for loving me back,” he returns, and Makoto _smiles_ , the one that crinkles his eyes and lights his face just so, the one Haruka knows is solely for him, before turning back to the tray to prepare his own cup. The two fathers tease him with gentle nudges and playful words until Makoto is redder than Haruka thinks he’s ever seen him, but it’s fair play for what he’d endured in the kitchen, he thinks with a slight smirk as he takes a careful sip.

The tea is perfect. Just as Haruka likes it. Just as everything is right now, Haruka realizes as Makoto settles in front of his chair with his own drink a moment later, broad shoulder lightly resting against Haruka’s right outer thigh. It won’t always be easy, both sets of parents had said, and Haruka knows that they’re right; that even the most conventional of partnerships has its ups and downs. But he also knows that, with their families’ unconditional love and support, and with Makoto, the bright and beautiful boy that Haruka has loved for forever, at his side, they will see it through, this love of theirs that they’d finally been able to share with each other after that magical night that they’d spent on the ice as the snow fell. 


End file.
